


State of Refuge

by PrincessErii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Resistance, War, World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9984893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessErii/pseuds/PrincessErii
Summary: Bringing his head back around, his eyes widened when he saw what lay beyond. It was some way ahead of him, probably about fifty feet, and ran across the entire horizon like a dark, tangled ocean. Twisted, gnarled trees covered in hanging vines of every size almost beckoned the Galra to enter, whilst at the same time, filling his heart with a feeling of dread that whispered 'turn back'."The end of the world," he breathed, taken back by the size of the forest before him.The world of Baldŷr had long been plagued by the mighty force of the Galra. Their empire spread across almost the entire mainland continent, only halted by an impenetrable forest - known to them as the End of the World. Anyone who ventured into its dark depths never returned, and thus it was left alone as a place only fools with a death wish would go to... so why would the Blade of Marmora send a rescued half breed to the border which harboured such tales?Warning: Whilst this is a Klance fic, it is more focused on the fantasy adventure side until I have written later chapters. The Klance will be extreme slow-burn, so keep that in mind when reading. Thanks:)





	1. The End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Songs to listen to whilst reading:
> 
> Wolfblood - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Prophecy - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Legend - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Evocation - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Callirus - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Myth - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Fable - Adrian Von Ziegler
> 
> Thanks for choosing to read this. This is actually my first Voltron fic and first fic on this site, so it means a lot.

Floating close to the ground across fields and moorland, thick layers of clouds enveloped the Northern Quadrant in a murky grey fog. The cool night air smelled of spring as the wind carried the scent of woodland up from the midlands. It snaked its way between the hills and over the rooftops of any tiny farm houses dotting the landscape, battering softly against loose barn doors. Dry stone walls covered in lichen and moss cut through fields of damp grass, creating roads and pathways for farmers to use. Heather mottled the moors in the distance, only interrupted by patches of low lying shrubs.

Not a soul stirred so far away from the capital. Any farmers living here had long since retired to their beds by this time of night. Their livestock was no different, being cooped up in barns and stables. The occasional fox or badger would scuttle across a path in search of food, unlikely to find any as rabbits and birds knew better than to go out at night, remaining in their burrows and nests, out of reach from predators.

 A low rumbling in the distance trembled through the ground. It grew closer with every second. Thudding hooves struck the dirt, louder and louder. A dark shape appeared over the hill, racing down a track. Many more followed closely behind. Ten horses galloped through the fog, tailing a single stallion. Shrouded in a torn crimson cloak, the fleeing Galra rider dug his heels into his horse’s sides. A teenage half-breed boy of about eighteen years lay unconscious against his chest.

The Galra gripped his reins tightly, ignoring the cold numbing in his hands. With a hard tug he yanked his horse into a narrow side path. The horse's hooves slipped in the mud as it stumbled down the hillside. Turning his head for a second, the Galra could see the cavalry’s violet crystal lanterns glowing viciously. He had not lost them yet.

He burst out onto another large track and took to the left, speeding down a stony road. His golden eyes flashed in the darkness. There were no more paths for him to slip into. Warlike cries from the Galra’s pursuers pierced his ears.

“Get him!”

“Traitor of the empire!”

“Flank him on both sides!”

Two cavalrymen came up either side of the Galra’s horse. The fleeing Galra cracked the reins several times. _Just_ _a little further_ , he thought desperately. Letting out a guttural shriek he wedged his heels into the horse’s sides, sending it racing ahead.

The boy, who until this point had been jolting about limply in front of the Galra, suddenly began slipping off the saddle. In a flurry of unplanned actions, the Galra dropped his reins and hauled him back on. He shoved the boy close to his chest.

“Hold out a little longer,” he muttered, grabbing the reins again.

On the other side of the walls, everything was barren. There were no trees, not even dead ones, the grass was much taller than before and heather carpeted the moor-sides in vast sheets of brittle branches. Tumbled-down sections of the walls had not been patched up. It was as if no one had walked the path in a long time.

"Grab his cloak!" A sudden yell behind the fleeing Galra practically screamed.

  
Not even thinking to turn around, the man dug his heels into the horse again and sprinted ahead. The boy in his arms was still far from waking. The Galra was not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing but quickly dismissed the thought. He had no time to let his mind wander.

That was when he saw something in the fog. It was hard to make out in the haze, being so far away from the path, but he was sure that he had spotted five giant standing stones in a neat line, each one taller than the last. With the surrounding moor being stripped of any other formations, it stuck out like a sore thumb in the landscape.

 _The first sign,_  the Galra thought, praying he had not imagined it.

And luckily, he had not. Up ahead there was a smaller pathway hidden under the debris of a fallen wall. In the rush, it was difficult to manouver, but the Galra veered his horse over the rubble and down the track. Almost immediately he passed by four dark rocks lining the path, two on each side. A spongy layer of moss covered their perfectly round surfaces. Leaving them behind, it was time to search for the second sign.

 Despite being unconscious, the boy’s teeth were chattering. His mop of messy black hair stuck to the back of his neck, where stiff purple fur was standing on end. Goosebumps covered the deathly pale skin on his scrawny face. The thin material of his tunic was nowhere near enough protection from the cold of the Northern Quadrant. He was so cold that the Galra had noticed him shivering.

Still aware of the cavalry, the man had no time to wrap his cloak around the two of them. It was damp from the fog too, so would not have done much anyway. The man could still hear the Galra soldiers behind him. At this rate, they were going to be caught.

Then, as if the Gods themselves had intervened with the chase, he saw the second and final sign. It was quite far ahead and shrouded in fog, but it was definitely there. A sacred stone carving stood eerily on the side of the road. It was an abstract carving of a man, bearing no way to differentiate between the head and the body, however it was all that the fleeing Galra had wanted to see, for right next to it lay a tiny side path, no wider than for a single horse at a time. The entrance was overgrown with grass and shrubs, having not been used by farmers for many generations.

Pulling violently at the reins, he veered his horse into the sharp right. It was hard to pinpoint the exact time to turn, but he managed with little difficulty. Within seconds, he was speeding down the overgrown track, thundering through the river of plant-life that came up to his thighs.

Back at the mouth of the path, the cavalry ground to a halt. With ten of them there, it was way to narrow to fit them all in at once. The Galra man could hear the horses neighing and snorting as their riders slowed them, the calls of confusion and irritation getting further and further away. He was not at a safe distance from them yet and did not dare to slow, as it would not be long until the cavalry was able to file into the track. However, he was at last able to wrap the fringes of his cloak around the boy, even if it did not amount to much. The boy shivered, his ears unconsciously pricking up as the heavy material folded round his shoulders.

It was much quieter in this part of the moor, almost as if the wind itself had ceased to blow. The Galra were a superstitious race, and this man was no exception. He knew the reason why the wind had supposedly died here. It was for that very reason that he was heading in this direction to begin with.

The fog was thickening. Ferns and orchid stems sprawled out over the track, getting trampled on after years of standing proud in the unused path. Up ahead, through the haze, the man saw the narrow track open up. His chest tightened, for he knew where he was. He had reached his destination. Slowing his horse, he went from a gallop to a canter as he cautiously rode out of the pathway.

Turning his head round, he looked at every inch of his environment in seconds. He trotted into the centre of the circular structure ahead of him that had been dug out of the side of a hill, the earth being kept at bay only by a series of tall standing stones. The ground was covered in moss and plant-life, but it was clear that at one point, a flagstone path had existed there, cutting through the centre. Following the outline of the path with his eyes, the Galra man raised his head to come face to face with what he had been desperately searching for.

In front of him, looming eerily in the fog, were two stones standing much taller than the rest. Into the rocks was carved several swirling patters depicting fierce battles and mythical beasts and across their tops lay a large flat-stone, creating a doorway out of what was assumably at one point a meeting area. Hanging loosely from its ceiling, half rotted away from time and the elements, were several little charms and talismans used for warding away evil spirits.

The man stopped for a second. This was it. If he crossed this line, the cavalry were sure to stop the chase. That, he knew, was only because what lay beyond this doorway was said to be far worse than anything he could ever imagine. Tales of the ground swallowing you up, of moving trees, of talking animals that could read your mind and breathe fire.

At that moment, the ground began to shake with the force of hooves hitting against the track. The cavalry had fit through the track entrance, galloping single file along the path. The man tensed up. Taking a deep breath, he whipped up the reins and hit his feet into the horse. It immediately took off, passing under the flat-stone. Without any time to stop it and nowhere else to go, the Galra held his breath and swallowed his fear. Just as the cavalry emptied into the meeting area, he disappeared into the fog on the other side like a phantom into the night.

Circling the meeting area, the cavalry horses were all going in different directions. The Galra soldiers tried to calm them, but it was no use. They seemed agitated, whinnying and snorting if they so much as came close to the doorway. A few of the soldiers got off their horses, trampling over the ferns and grass until they were in front of the mysterious exit.

"Sir..." one of the shorter soldiers stammered. He too knew where they had ended up.

Behind him, a Galra riding a heavily armour clad stallion peered through the fog on the other side of the stones. There was nothing to see and the place was silent.

"Let him go," the leader frowned in a combination of anger and frustration. Glaring up at the exit to the meeting area, he cursed under his breath.

"Ulaz, you fool. Only death meets those who travel to the end of the world..."

 

**§§§**

 

With every second that passed, Ulaz felt the fear of being caught by the cavalry slowly seep out of him, only to be replaced with an even greater fear. He had lost track of time and had no clue how long he had been travelling aimlessly through the inky black fog, still pressing on in a rhythmic gallop. Something was disturbing the Galra, eating away at the back of his mind like maggots in the deep recesses of a tree trunk. There truly was nothing here.

He had not passed a single town or village, which he found understandable as no one lived here, but there were no longer any dry stone walls to mark his way. Even the road had long since disappeared behind him. There were no bumps in the ground or hills to cross. It was only a straight flat expanse that spread out for God knows how far. That coupled with the swirling fog that encaged Ulaz's vision to less than a few feet ahead of him was enough to turn anyone back to the empire. But Ulaz could not stop. No matter how much his skin prickled and his heart raced, he had to keep going.

"We're almost there," he told himself shakily, taking a deep breath and gripping the reins tightly. "Just a little further."

In his arms, the boy began to slide off the saddle again.

"Keith!" Ulaz jumped, though this time, he knew better than to just blindly let go of the reins and reach out to him, instead quickly giving them a hard tug.

The horse whinnied, grinding to a halt in the muddy earth. Carefully and with trembling hands, Ulaz moved Keith back into the right position. The half breed slumped forwards, his tangle of hair and furry ears dripping with water from exposure to the fog. Ulaz wrapped his cloak tighter around the both of them and inhaled a deep breath, taking hold of the reins again.

There was a sudden shiver up his spine. Frantically, he whipped his head round, his entire body stiff and tense. There was nothing there, just an inky haze. Shaking the reins, Ulaz very slowly turned his head back to face the front and carried onwards in a swift canter. He had a lingering feeling that something beyond his vision was there, watching silently, waiting.

He knew well why so few members of the Blade ever tried going to the end of the world. So many times, he had seen young rookies who had heard the legends of what lay beyond the ancient fog and travelled to this place to find the truth. Those were the rookies that never returned. The Blade made a statement to never come here, and Ulaz had followed that order since his enrolment seventy years ago. Now that he was here, riding through the ocean of clouds in the middle of the night, he just wanted to curl up into a ball and pray that someone found him.

The only reason he was even here was because of that damned Champion. The man had only been in the colosseum for a year, yet he had filled everyone's minds with tales of what lay beyond the end of the world. Dragons and pixies, cities so far underground that only dwarves could ever reach them, even lakes filled with merfolk who could read your mind. Many times he had claimed to have come from such a land, which Ulaz was sure that at least half the gladiators did not believe. Right now though, he was depending on the stories Champion told every night in his cell. He had not played the role of a prison guard for a year just to die at the end of the world.

Suddenly, the Galra caught sight of something in the fog up ahead of him. Jerking on the reins, he pulled his horse to an abrupt stop. There was a dark round shape standing about ten feet away, the haze swirling around it. Ulaz's heart pounded against his ribcage, and a deep growl resonated in the back of his throat. Bearing his teeth, he strained his eyes in the dark to see what it was, his hand subconsciously sliding down to his belt, where a knife was sheathed in a thick leather scabbard. For a few seconds, nothing moved.

Eventually, it was Ulaz who had his horse sluggishly wander up to the shape. As it came into view, the Galra felt every muscle in his body relax. It was just a boulder, no bigger than his arm and covered in lichen and moss, though underneath were the same swirling patterns from the stones at the doorway to this place. Letting out a deep sigh, Ulaz noticed a similar shape a little way behind the boulder, obscured by the fog. Allowing his horse to trot up to it, he saw that it was yet another boulder, bearing similar patterns once again. Looking behind that one, he saw another.

Ulaz began to follow the line of boulders, occasionally flashing his eyes around the murky darkness in case he was being tracked or tailed. With every minute that passed, he felt Keith getting colder and colder. The boy was still shivering, despite the fact that he was partially wrapped in Ulaz's cloak. Ulaz frowned, bringing Keith closer to his chest.

Then, as if they had been ripped from the earth, the line of boulders was cut off, leaving the Galra with another expanse of flat land hidden under the fog. Ulaz halted his horse. Something was different from the last expanse. His senses were heightened, picking up on any details and changes a normal human would miss easily. The growl returned to his throat and his eyes glowed bright in the dark like a torch. He and Keith were not alone.

Swinging his leg over the side of his horse, he jumped down, hitting the soggy ground with a thud. Keith fell forward, balanced precariously on the saddle. Upon seeing the trembling boy, Ulaz undid the clasp on his cloak and flung it loosely over the half breed. Sweat was dripping down his face and his heart was racing from a subconscious fear, so he had no need for it. Taking his knife out of its sheath, he darted his eyes around.

Then he saw it up ahead. It looked to be some thirty feet away, but its sheer size made it visible through the fog, standing at least ten times bigger than the Galra. Ulaz immediately tensed up, the knife in his hand growing into a fully sized blade. There was no way he could fight a beast so large, but he could not turn back now.

Leading his horse across the ground, he prepared his mind for the possible fight he would be caught up in. Over and over, he banished his fear as best as he could, the adrenaline kicking in as he neared the gigantic silhouette. Any second now, it would come into focus.

Ulaz took his final steps up to the shape, his blade ready to slice it to pieces. However, it did not move. Confused, Ulaz felt his heart pounding in his ears and his breath caught in his throat. Tilting his head upwards, he had to take a few steps back before he could see the true extent of what he had come across.

Standing like a petrified tree frozen in time and covered from head to tail in every shade of lichen and moss, was an immense stone lion. Its mane looked as if it was blowing majestically in a non-existant bluster, its mouth permanently carved into a silent roar that Ulaz swore he could hear in the back of his head. The beast was posed on top of a great plinth, which bore markings and letters carved into the stone many hundreds - possibly thousands - of years ago. Despite the apparent age of the mighty statue, it did not look as if any weathering had come upon it.

Ulaz fell to his knees, overcome with relief and a numb sense of security. His blade shrank back down to a mere knife, which he immediately sheathed. Champion had spoken of this creature one night when he had first arrived in the colosseum.

"The Guardian of the Balmerra," Ulaz muttered, dumbfounded at how large the carving actually was.

"It's alive," he remembered Champion tell him through the bars of the cell. "If you're not careful, it'll have the Balmerra swallow you right up."

But how can I get past it? Ulaz wondered frantically, his eyes scanning the entire beast for any signs to point him in the right direction.

The writing on the plaque stood out to him, the grooves swirling in intricately carved calligraphy. He could not read a word of the strange lettering, which only added to his anxiety as he stumbled to his feet. Shakily, he swallowed and stepped forward again.

"O-Oh great c-creature," he felt his voice cracking. "I mean y-you no harm..."

There was only silence. The lion did not move, and Ulaz frowned. Champion had said that it was alive and yet it did nothing. Puzzled and terrified, he tried his best to continue.

"Please, oh mighty beast... l-let us pass safely th-through your domain..." he called out, his trembling hands clasped together as he bowed his head.

Softly, an ominous breeze began to blow over the misty land. Ulaz froze, petrified in a tense bow. His golden eyes were squeezed shut, his heart in his mouth as he felt the wind waft around him, lifting his tuft of silver hair and cooling his body as it burned from fear. There was a sound. A long, ceramic scraping that caused Ulaz's pointed ears to prick up. He gritted his teeth at the chilling noise, not moving.

Suddenly, a strong gust of warm air blasted in his direction. Ulaz was sent tumbling backward, landing hard on the wet grass. He hissed with pain, his eyes shooting open to see what it was that had caused such a powerful wind to blow. What he came face to face with in that instant was by far the most terrifying thing he had ever encountered in his long life.  
Leaning down and staring back at him with massive stone eyes was the lion, Its face only inches away as it inhaled a deep breath that almost lifted Ulaz off the ground. Ulaz wanted to scream for help, but there as no point. No one would hear him. He was going to die here, and no one would know about it.

"P-Please!" he scrambled to his knees, grovelling in front of the majestic creature. "Spare us! We mean you no harm, oh mighty lion."

The lion stopped, gazing down at the terrified Galra. He was curled in a trembling heap on the ground, his clothes soaked from the dew on the grass. Swiftly, the lion looked up at the horse, where Keith lay on its back, still unconscious.

Ulaz felt another gust of wind whirl around him as a dark shadow loomed over him. Bolting his head up, he turned frantically to see the lion had leaned out its own head, inspecting the horse. It dipped its head as it came to Keith, opening its giant mouth to show sharp, perfect canines.

"Spare the boy!" Ulaz screamed, scrambling to his feet and rushing back to the horse. "I beg of you. He's done nothing wrong!"

To that, the lion lifted its head away from Keith. The horse neighed softly, not phased at all by the immense beast. Ulaz stumbled up to the horse's side, grabbing the reins in his hand. He could feel the lion's deep grey eyes burying into him, reading his every move as he stared back at it, not wavering. For a few seconds, everything was still.

Then, in a fast flurry of movements, the lion reared up, not breaking gaze with the Galra standing below it. Ulaz clutched the reins, once again petrified by the beast. A deep, long growl emanated from the lion's throat as it bore its teeth, snarling. Taking in a gulp of air, it let out an ear-splitting roar.

Ulaz scrunched up his face, cowering behind his horse. The roar went on and on, filling up what seemed like the entirety of the misty land to the Galra. It shook the very foundations of the earth itself, sending shivers down Ulaz's spine. This was the power of what lay at the end of the world.

Seconds passed by, and gradually, the roar died down, though it continued to ring in Ulaz's ears for long after. He did not dare to move, fearing what would happen if he did. Nothing happened for several minutes after.  
The horse shifted nervously, tugging at the reins that Ulaz was still gripping tightly in his sweaty palms. It took every ounce of his willpower just to be able to open his eyes. When he did open them however, he was met with a very different sight to what he had been exposed to only minutes before.

The mist had all been blown backwards, creating a cloudy wall quite a way back. Looking around frantically, Ulaz saw a stretch of flat land spreading out endlessly to his left and right. Spinning round, he was almost too afraid to look at the lion again, but all he could see was the gigantic beast perched on its pedestal, frozen in time once again. It looked as if it had never moved in the first place, stuck in the same roaring position it had been in when Ulaz had found it.

Ulaz craned his head back in relief, taking in a massive gulp of air. Gazing up at the sky, he saw countless stars glimmering in the night, mottling the dark expanse above in shades ranging from crystal white and aqua blue to blood red and amethyst.

Bringing his head back to face ahead of him, his eyes widened when he saw what lay behind the lion. It was some way ahead of him, probably about fifty feet, and ran across the entire horizon like a dark, tangled ocean. Twisted, gnarled trees covered in hanging vines of every size almost beckoned the Galra to enter, whilst at the same time, filling his heart with a feeling of dread that whispered 'turn back'.

"The end of the world," he breathed, taken back by the size of the forest before him.

Slipping his foot into a stirrup, he quickly mounted his horse and dug his heels into its sides, sending it galloping past the lion statue, heading for the thick layers of trees.

It did not take long to reach the edge of the forest, only a few seconds, but when Ulaz was confronted with the twisting roots that carpeted the ground and the low hanging branches, he bowed his head, sighing. This was as far as he went.  
Jumping off his horse, he carefully led it to one of the smallest trees he could find on the border. Tethering it to a narrow trunk, he peered briefly into the depths of the wood. It was so dark he could not see a thing, sending a shiver down his back. Taking a second to calm his shaking hands, he went back round the side of the horse.

Keith had not stirred for a while. Furrowing his brow, Ulaz carefully took him by the shoulders and pulled him off the saddle. He fell to the floor, his tattered tunic getting covered in dirt and mud. By now, Ulaz was not thinking about that. He glanced around the trees, spotting one which was much taller than the rest. It was not too far from the border, but was far enough so that it was safe, its roots old and crooked, burrowing deep into the ground. It was the perfect place to hide.

Picking up Keith in his arms, Ulaz was able to carry the underweight boy without much difficulty up to the tree. Dead leaves crinkled beneath his feet, sending up a strong scent of bark and damp around the area, and the Galra scrunched up his nose in disgust as he gently set Keith down in a nook between two of the largest roots. Wrapping the cloak around his scrawny figure, Ulaz made sure he at least appeared comfortable.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as he opened a pouch on his belt. "From here, you're on your own." Out of the pouch he brought another knife, this one much smaller than his own. Opening the folds of the cloak, he pressed it into Keith's limp hands. "I have to return to the Blade. You must find Allura."

Ulaz stood up, brushing the soil off his trousers as he returned to his horse. Untying the reins, he looked back at the unconscious half breed lying obscured in the roots of the tree as he saddled up. He bowed his head, a sort of 'good luck', as he turned his horse back in the direction of the mist.

"The Blade is always with you!" he called, raising a hand, then he took off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking time to read this story. This was more of a prologue of what's to come. In the future I hope to introduce more characters and build on the world. 
> 
> Check out the YouTube channels of every composer listed in the song lists. They are all incredibly talented and deserve more attention. I mainly put a track list here to give them publicity because holy hell their songs are amazing.
> 
> Once again thank you for reading. 
> 
> ~Princess Erii


	2. Beyond The End of The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs to listen to whilst reading this chapter:  
> Origins - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Kingdom of the Bards - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Woodland Tales - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Alvae - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Celestial - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> For the King - Adrian Von Ziegler

****Daybreak struck the emergent layer of trees with golden rays of early morning sun, sending long streaks of amber and saffron over the jade canopy as it rose higher in the sky. The mists that gathered around hidden ponds and rivers slowly rose with the coming of the day, giving way to the dark, twisted depths of the forest. Strong thick trunks held up twisting branches draped in millions of leaves, fungi growing proudly from the deep recesses of the bark where the wood was rotting and damp. Animals scurried around in the undergrowth, collecting nuts or berries to eat in their burrows.

  
For the most part, the ground was relatively flat, save for the countless roots scattered around. Occasionally, the forest floor would slope into a steep drop, which usually ended in rivers that snaked between the trees and out to the meadows beyond. Battling the current, shimmering fish could be seen in the clear waters and fisher birds such as herons and kingfishers waited patiently in the shallows for an unsuspecting meal to swim right into their grasp, before swiping it up and swallowing it hole.

  
Near the banks of the river the water had a tendency to merge with the land, becoming muddy marshes teaming with reeds and bog grass. The towering stems created a haven for smaller aquatic birds, who made their nests in the thick cover, every so often abandoning their homes for a sunbathe out on the deeper water.

  
A little way down this particular river, crossing over a narrow stretch of gushing water, was a crumbling old stone bridge. Its bricks had long since been battered by the rain and ripples, eroding the sides and allowing its once painted form to stand plain and unfixed for centuries. Despite the years of exposure, it remained strong, holding up the road that curved round to the local town from the inn that lay on the outskirts, shrouded in the trees.

  
Lance adjusted the leather bag on his shoulder, whistling a spur-of-the-moment tune as he shambled lazily across the bridge, heading for town. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his olive green tunic, his posture slouched and apathetic as he gazed across the river to his left. It only took a few seconds for the whistling to become boring, and by the time his foot stepped back onto the cobbled road, he had given up on it.

  
There was simply nothing to do anymore, much to his annoyance. He had gotten to that age where he knew pretty much everything he needed to in order to survive in the world, yet he was still 'too young' to take care of himself. It irritated him greatly. He was seventeen, he could make it on his own now. He had a part-time job and everything... A part time job he never went to because no one ever showed up. Being an intern prison guard had sounded fun at the time, but when he only got inmates once every few months, the job became uninteresting and unnecessary, so he had started skipping out.

  
Not that there was much else to do anyway. His mother and grandmother were pestering him to take over the inn, but he was not interested in that. What he wanted to do was explore. And not just the run-of-the-mill exploring all people did. He wanted to go far away to the Ancient Land, where no one from the forest dared tread. It was his dream, even if it seemed impossible.

  
Lance was wandering past a few of the larger houses on the fringes of the town by now. He passed a tall stone one that looked more like a watch tower, complete with a cone roof and arched windows. Sitting in the garden in a white painted rocking chair, smoking a pipe and reading a parchment scroll, was a grey haired, algae skinned pixie. His red cap was tilted over his pointy ears and his outfit was far too small for him, but he did not seem to care. When he saw the human passing by his garden, he lifted his pipe in greeting.

  
Lance waved back, grinning as he continued past a more box-like house made of wooden beams and painted in a cream shade of yellow. The enticing scent of freshly baked bread curled through the air and Lance took a second to inhale a satisfied breath. The elderly Galra widow who lived there sure knew how to cook up a good loaf. Pressing onward, Lance found himself at the foot of a small hill.

  
The main road curved inward towards the town centre, passing through the market place where stalls were set up for selling goods later in the day. Lance was not heading that way, rather he stepped into a thin side path, trekking up the hill. His leather boots got a bit of dirt on them as they slipped around on the slightly muddy track, much to Lance's annoyance. He had payed good money for them.

  
The trees were thinner and younger at the top of the hill, having been cleared a while ago to make way for a large slate round-house. Its low roof was mostly made of thatch, but a massive chimney shaft made up for the house's short height. Lance took a couple of seconds to get his breath back when he reached the clearing, resting his hands on his knees. Looking up at the house in front of him, he noticed the front door hanging open on the veranda. He could hear the raging crackle of a furnace from deep within the house and saw sparks flying through the open door. Going to take a closer look, he saw a tray of silver and gold pieces lying unattended on a round table next to the door. Furrowing his brow, he gave the house a quick glance.

  
"Hunk?" he called. "I'm here like you said I could be."

  
Almost instantly, there was a shuffling inside, and a large, almost rock-like woman covered in thick knobbly scales stepped out of the door, carrying a tray of various crystals. When she saw Lance, she bowed her head and set the second tray down next to the first. Ruffling out her dark green dress, she sat herself down on a wooden armchair.

  
"Greetings, Lance," she nodded, a soft smile forming on her face.

  
"Morning Shay," Lance replied, peering into the open door. "Is Hunk working today?"

  
"He is just finishing his newest blade," Shay explained, beginning to busy herself with making rings and bracelets. "He shall be finished within the hour."

  
"Ok," Lance felt slightly relieved to hear that his best friend was not busy. He had gotten so bored fixing the water mill at the inn that he had needed something to do, even if it was something boring like grocery shopping. Luckily, Hunk had said he was free to go fishing. It was not quite 'fun', but it would do to cure Lance's boredom for a short time.

  
"You may join him if you wish," Shay said politely, setting an amethyst and silver bracelet on the table.

  
"Really? Thanks," Lance grinned. He put his hand on the door frame and stepped inside.

  
Immediately, an intense wave of heat hit the boy in the face. It was almost so hot that he had to step outside again. How could someone work in such a hostile heat anyway? Braving the scorching temperature, Lance took the next few steps inside.

  
The inside of the house was a completely different story to the outside. What at first appeared to be a one room house turned out to be a single large room and a few smaller side ones. The main piece of furniture was a long table in the centre, covered in lots of different tools and appliances, each serving their own purpose. Along the walls, many weapons were hung up, sprinkled with animal skins and meats left out to dry in between them. It was dark, apart from a few hanging crystal lanterns strung up in the rafters. Them and the blazing furnace on the far side of the room. Elevated by a few layers of mud bricks, it glowed viciously with a deep crimson light. An anvil sat to its right, as well as cooling buckets and hammer cases.

  
Perched comfortably on a leather stool on the far side of the room from Lance, fully endorsed in hammering away at a white hot piece of metal, was the big, soft half-dwarf Lance had come all his way to see. Not wanting to disturb Hunk, Lance pulled a stool up to the table and began fingering the tools, picking them up and turning them round in his hands. Some were simple tools like sharp cutting blades or round stones. Others were more complex, being comprised of several smaller parts. Some of the tools Hunk held very dear to him, often telling Lance of how they came from the Ancient Land and how he had needed to pay a good price for them. Those were the tools that intrigued Lance the most.

  
Hisssssssss

  
Lance's skin prickled as the sound of Hunk dipping the blade into cold water filled the room. The half-dwarf took the metal out after a few seconds, inspecting it briefly before standing up and moving to the furnace. He was just about to send the blade back into the searing flames, but when he saw his best friend sitting on the other side of the room, he stopped everything that he was doing. The two stared poker-faced at each other for a couple of seconds.

  
"I was wondering how long you'd take to notice me," Lance chuckled, resting his chin on his hand and smiling slyly.

  
"Wait... You, here... and," Hunk blinked, still holding the blade in his hand. His eyes suddenly went wide with realisation. "Oh God Lance, I totally forgot."

  
"Hey, no hard feelings man," Lance waved his hand nonchalantly. "Take all the time you need."

  
"No way, I'll just be a sec," Hunk frowned, resting the blade on the bricks and scurrying off out of a second door into a tiny side room.

  
While Hunk was getting ready, Lance found that once again, he was bored. Having already checked out all of the tools, he pushed back his chair and wandered over to a pot of arrows. Hunk usually made arrow heads in his spare time, some out of flint and some out of spare metal. The metal ones were Lance's favourite. They were so shiny and sharp compared to the flint ones. It was clear that Hunk spent more time crafting them.

  
"Hey," Lance heard Hunk behind him.

  
Turning his head over his shoulder, he saw his best friend already by the front door, having changed into a casual worker's shirt and dark pants. In one hand he was carrying a long fishing rod, the other carrying a bucket of bait Lance swore he had not had time to prepare in only a minute or so.

  
"Coming," Lance replied.

  
He pouted when he walked up to Hunk, only to be handed the bait bucket. It reeked of old meat and guts, the smell strong enough to make anyone want to puke. However, Lance swallowed his disgust as the two of them made their way out of the house and back onto the veranda. They hurried past Shay, not wanting to disturb her as she made her jewellery. Nevertheless, they were spotted anyway just before they disappeared round the side of the hill.

  
"Be safe on your journey," she called cheerfully out to them, though her golden eyes were still hazy and glossed over.

  
"Will do!" Hunk called back, waving to her.

  
"Sure thing Shay!" Lance yelled, amused by Shay's unusually old fashioned way of speaking.

  
The two boys circled down the back side of the hill, where the river had twisted back on itself to run right next to the house. This part of the river was much narrower than where Lance had crossed the bridge, and was shallower too. Several large stepping stones had naturally formed across the centre over the years, be it from erosion or the water slowly pushing them into place. Lance hopped briskly over the first couple of stones to where the deepest part of the river was. Carefully, he dipped his shoe into the flowing water, allowing the current to wash the mud that had accumulated on the sole away. After the first shoe was clean, he swapped sides and did the same thing to the other foot.

  
"Careful Lance," Hunk warned. "Don't wanna fall in."

  
"I'm not five, Hunk," Lance sighed, shaking his boot dry of the water. "I can handle a bit of water fine."

  
"I'm just saying," Hunk defensively rose his hands and took a tiny step back.

  
"Besides, I'm bored," Lance shrugged, leaping over the last few stones to the river bank.

  
On the other side of the river, a great meadow sprawled out for about a mile to the north. Flowers of every shade danced around in a gentle mid-morning breeze and thick stems of emerald grass were lifted up, interrupting the patches of crimson poppies and pristine feverfew. Kaleidoscopes of peacock butterflies fluttered aimlessly around a small path that ran along the side of the river. Lance and Hunk followed the path, taking in the familiar scent of pollen and earth.

  
It took a few minutes to get to the perfect fishing spot. Sitting at a bend in the river, where a deep pool of water had formed, was a miniature rock cliff. The stone was big enough for a few people to sit on at once and was for the most part completely clear of any signs of age, save for the fringes where it connected into the meadow, where it was beginning to grow a thin layer of moss.

  
Hunk, having now taken the lead, stepped down from the grassy pathway onto the rock, Lance lazily tailing him. When they were both down on the flat stone, Hunk sat himself rather quaintly over the edge, untangling his fishing line. Lance plonked the bucket of bait next to his friend, then practically flopped onto the ground. He was a terrible fisher, only taking part after the fish had already taken the bait. For now, he just had to wait for something to bite, which Hunk usually watched over rather than him. Instead, he tried to make a conversation, something that usually ended up happening when the two of them went fishing.

  
"How's Shay then?" he asked, picking a piece of grass out of the meadow behind him and twiddling it between his thumb and forefinger.

  
"Better," Hunk replied. "Still misses her family from time to time, but she smiles a lot more."

  
"I noticed," Lance sighed, turning his head to look back at the house on the hill.

  
"It must be hard... Coming from the Ancient World I mean. Like, having to abandon your family just to survive must be terrifying," Hunk had started rambling.

  
Lance's eyelids were drooping. He lay on his back, hands behind his head and a piece of grass in his mouth as he gazed up at the clouds. It was relaxing to him. Boring, but relaxing. A few minutes of extra sleep never killed anyone, right? Lance shut his eyes, allowing the sounds of the rushing water and soft breeze to fill his head. Everything was peaceful.

  
"GUYS!"

  
Lance bolted upright, spitting out his piece of grass. Darting his eyes around, he saw that Hunk was just as tense, his giant hands tightly gripping the fishing pole. The voice was familiar, hollering at them from across the river. Straining his still mildly blurry vision, Lance felt his entire face fall in a mixture of relief and irritation when he saw who was flying towards them at a break-neck speed.

  
"They caught one! They caught an Outsider!" Pidge screeched excitedly, her film-thin wings buzzing as she whizzed over the water to her friends.

  
"Huh?" Hunk raised an eyebrow as the tiny girl landed on his shoulder.

  
"The Patrol," Pidge explained hurriedly as she supported herself against his neck to tighten the sandal straps around the backs of her legs. Adjusting her jacket, she continued. "They found someone on the border on the last scouting trip. I got to see him with my own eyes and everything!"

  
"Wait, they actually caught someone?" Lance scrambled up to his two friends, suddenly interested in what was going on.

  
"You bet they did," Pidge nodded, then she frowned. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

  
"You know me," Lance scratched his face awkwardly. "I skipped out again... Never mind that. Where're they keeping him?"

  
"Stronghold seventeen, I think," Pidge cocked her head to the side, though it was obvious that she could remember it. She could remember everything.

  
"Let's go then," Lance said just as excitedly as Pidge had been, heaving his body up from the ground and bounding back down the path.

  
Pidge followed behind him, quickly catching up and sitting cross-legged on his shoulder. Hunk stared after the two of them, a puzzled expression plastered on his face. Why were those two so obsessed with people from the Ancient World? Granted, he was obsessed with the technology from that place, but it ended there. Those two were something else entirely when it came to the Outsiders.

  
"Yo Hunk, you comin' or what?" Lance called, breaking Hunk's train of thought.

  
Sighing, the half-dwarf pulled back his line and stood up. Picking up the bait bucket, he trudged back toward the stepping stone bridge. Fishing was going to have to wait for later.

 

**§§§**

 

Drip... Drip... Drip...

  
Keith's ears pricked up with every drop that fell from the stalactites in the cave, his mind gradually being brought back to the realm of reality. As he began to gain control over his bodily functions again, all he could feel was a deep throbbing pain. It ran through his entire body, filling every part of him in a heavy sensation. His head pounded, stabbing repeatedly at him like a knife into his skull. With his mind sluggishly whirling around, he felt his senses slowly regaining control. Exhaustedly, he tore his eyelids apart.

  
He was met with a somewhat dark cave ceiling. The rocks hung low to the ground, almost touching Keith's head, yet giving him enough room to sit up. Heaving his aching back up, he sat up. A thick scratchy blanket fell off his shoulders and collected round his waist. Breathing out shakily, he let hands drop to his sides, where they hit against a scruffily put together straw mattress wrapped in cheap cloth. To his left, the warm inviting glow and familiar crackle of a torch caused him to sheepishly turn his head.

  
He had been sleeping on a bed in some sort of cubby hole in the corner of what appeared to be a much larger room. From what the half breed could make out, the torch was round the corner, out of sight but still providing light to him. Glimmering in the darkness, his eyes scanned the shadowy room. The floor was dusty and plain. The walls had no decorations on them and the ceiling only harboured stalactites toward the back, meeting with stalagmites next to the wall. There was a simply constructed table next to the wall, with a single chair tucked neatly under it. Hanging off the back was Ulaz's cloak, still damp from the fog.

  
Keith gripped the blanked tightly in his claws as he caught sight of the cloak. He recognised the Blade's uniform anywhere, despite having been locked in the gladiatorial barracks in the capital for several years. It was unmistakable, with the mostly black design sprinkled with hints of lilac and violet. Flinging his legs over the side of the bed, he heard the frame creak as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to the chair.

  
He crashed into the table, his legs still weak and throbbing as he tried to keep himself from slumping to the floor. His efforts were in vain however, as his legs bowed and he fell to his knees, every part of his body trembling from fatigue. It was a challenge just to wheeze and splutter as his lungs burned from having done too much at once, and he clutched the table leg with one hand and his chest with the other, coughing violently and contracting into a tight ball, he could taste a vague tint of iron in his mouth.

  
"So the boy done woke up, eh?" a groggy, drunken voice chuckled.

  
Keith froze, his fingers close to tearing through his shirt as he held it. Jittering nervously, he glanced to the left, where the source of the noise resided. In that moment, what he came face to face with drained his face of what little colour it had and made the fur on the back of his neck stand on end. And it was not the owner of the voice. Rather, it was the long tall line of metal bars locking him in some sort of cell.

  
He felt numb, even heavier than before. His mind was burning, racing faster than he could keep up with. Why was he back in a cell? Had he been caught? Had Ulaz and Thace lied to him? Everything was a blur.

  
One thing was certain however. He was not back in the colosseum. In that hell hole, cells were dark and freezing, even during the day. Every night he had been forced to huddle up to anyone he could for warmth, that usually being Shiro. They had no torches, no blankets and barely any clothes on their backs to keep them from freezing to death. Something was strange about this cell, almost as if he was not in the Galra Empire anymore.

  
"Whatcha so done scared of, eh?" the drunk voice slurred curiously.

  
Keith tensed up, realising he had been staring at his captor. It was a terribly short, old, round dwarf with pink puffy cheeks and a beard long enough to make a carpet of of the hairs. He was perched on a stone bench carved out of the rock face on the other side of the cave, a gourd of what Keith assumed was alcohol in his chubby hand. Keith tore his eyes to the floor. To that, the dwarf chuckled and took a swig of his drink.

  
"I ain't gonna hurt ya or nothin', boy," he smiled, capping his gourd.

  
"Don't lay a finger on me," Keith hit his fist on the ground, not listening to the dwarf. In the colosseum, such insolence as staring at a guard warranted a lashing from the whip or a beating with a stick, something he was more than ready to fight against.

  
"I jus' done said I ain't gonna 'urt ya," the dwarf muttered gruffly. He stood up from his seat and hobbled over to the cell on a lame leg. Looking through the bars, he could see Keith shaking with fear despite his confident tone. "Listen boy," he bent down a bit to get a better look in the darkness. "Where exactly is ya from? In all me years o' runnin' this place, never 'ave I seen anyone so scared o' little ol' me."

  
The words were barely reaching the half breed on the other side of the bars. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, his fur quivering on the back of his neck and hands where it was visible. The guard could see the violet hairs sticking up through the sleeves of the tunic and all the way down Keith's back.

  
He had seen prisoners who had been a little scared of him before. Most of the time though, they were just afraid because the Patrol were less than polite with conscious fugitives. It had been a while since he had seen one that had been found unconscious. Usually, they fainted from fear of the Patrol and were aware of what they were getting into. This one however, he was clueless, almost like he had no idea where he was, which, knowing how it was almost impossible to get here in the first place, seemed extremely unlikely.

  
"Boy, raise yer 'ead," the dwarf huffed.

  
Keith shot his head up fiercely, but dwarf immediately saw the fear he was trying to hide reflecting in his eyes, their golden irises small and glassy. Needing more answers about this strange half breed, he continued.

  
"Does yer 'ave any done clue where ya is?" he asked, stroking his beard out of his mouth as he spoke.

  
Keith was silent for a second, then very slowly began to shake his head. "No," he spat.

  
"Does yer remember hows ya got 'ere?" the dwarf continued.

  
"No," Keith shook his head again, his ears drooping.

  
"Now then," the dwarf sighed, feeling that the pieces might be beginning to slip into place. "Who was yer with in ya las' memory, eh?"

  
Keith took a second with that question. He had been with a lot of people. There was Shiro, Ulaz and Thace most notably, though Shiro had carried on talking to some fairy called 'Matt' or something. Thace and Ulaz had broken them out of their cells, they had run for a while, then nothing.

  
Nothing...

  
"Where's Shiro?" Keith suddenly asked, his ears pricking up.

  
The dwarf frowned. "Boy, you was alone when we caught ya." he scratched his head, trying to remember if the Patrol had said anything about anyone else being at the border. It was no use. It had been quite the talk amongst the fairies in the Patrol that he had been alone.

  
"That's not true!" Keith flung himself at the bars, gripping them tightly in his claws. "We were together when we escaped. He's gotta be here."

  
The force at which the half breed was talking caused the dwarf to stumble back a little. Observing the boy closely, the dwarf could see that when before his eyes had only had golden irises, now they were glowing completely yellow. He had sharp canines bared in a violent snarl, a deep growl resonating in the back of his throat.

  
"Where's Shiro?" he asked again, almost barking like a dog.

  
"I done told ya," the dwarf began to get a bit annoyed with Keith's behaviour. "Yer was alone, half breed!"

  
"Liar," Keith growled.

  
He thrust an arm through the bars, trying to grab the dwarf by the beard. Luckily, the tiny man was able to evade the attack by merely stepping backwards. Glaring at the prisoner in front of him, he brought out his gourd again and took a large swig of the alcohol inside. He needed to be drunk at that moment or he might not get through this.

  
Keith's mind was spinning in a mix of fear and fury. How could they lie to him? They had to know where Shiro was. At the same time though, there was something in the back of his head yelling at him to stop. A tiny piece of him that was afraid of the dwarf and the possible punishments he could receive for lashing out.

  
By the time the half breed had come to his senses, his hands slipping down the bars and hitting the cold floor, the dwarf was ready going to leave. Hobbling across the room and past a few other empty cells, he made his way to a secluded corner. Round the side of a wall of stalagmites, a spiral staircase dug into the ceiling, going up to the entrance to the prison.

  
"Say," he chuckled, all hints of anger gone from his voice as he was lost in a drunk frenzy. "Yer may done get a visitor."

  
Keith took in a deep breath, this time having heard the guard. Not looking up from the floor, he only nodded.

  
"Yer could ask 'im 'bout this 'Shiro' guy," the dwarf said, grimacing slightly as the face of his intern came into his head. "The guy sure done skips 'is shift a ton, but if anyone knows anythin' 'bout ya friend, it'll be 'im. When 'e 'ears yer 'ere, 'e'll be boundin' down these 'ere steps like a done drunken pixie."

  
And with that, the dwarf was gone, climbing the stairs and leaving Keith alone in the cell, his only light source coming from the torch hanging round the side of the wall. The air was stuffy and warm, though Keith was not complaining. Anything was better than the freezing cold of the colosseum. Everywhere was silent, save for the dripping sound of water running off the stalactites and collecting in puddles in the corners of the cave. Not knowing what else to do, Keith hauled his body to his feet.

  
He gave the rest of the cave a quick glance, trying to see if there was any way out. The barred door on his cell was far too heavy to move, it looked like it was even more complicatedly constructed than the cell doors in the colosseum. Observing it more closely, the half breed could see that it did not actually contain a lock for a key, but instead a series of complicated metal pieces woven together round the junction between the door and the doorframe. They looked like metal plant stems encroaching on the door, though they phased into the structure when they got far enough away from the junction.

  
Keith rammed his side into the door with what little strength his exhausted body could muster. It did nothing, other than give the half breed another stab of pain in his limbs. Shaking off the feeling, he tried again, this time throwing his back against the door. This went on for several minutes, until Keith could feel the bruises on his arms and back throbbing.

  
He frowned. It was impossible to open this door normally. How had his captors been able to lock him inside in the first place? Magic was a possibility, but that was said to have been lost a long time ago, at the fall of Altea. It did not look as if he would be getting out that way, so he left it alone.

  
It would be useless to scream for help. Nobody was there to hear him. For now, he was stuck. His fur stood on end when he thought of the possibility of being stuck there forever, but he quickly banished the thought. For now, he needed to think through his actions. Shiro's words resonated in the back of his head.

  
"Patience yields focus..."

  
"Alright," he muttered to himself, trudging over to his bed.

  
He flopped down onto the scratchy material, not caring that it irritated his skin a little bit. It was warm. For once in his life, he was warm. It had been years since he had last slept in a bed, and being able to finally say he could rest relaxed his tired muscles. With the anxiety of Shiro being in danger lingering on his mind, he needed anything he could find to ease the nervous weight in his stomach. He could think about how to find Shiro after his mind had settled. For now though, his eyelids fluttered shut and he entered a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I have actually introduced my main leads! Why I didn't put them in chapter one I don't know, I just kind of needed a sort of prologue type thing to establish Keith's situation a bit. I want to put Klance in, but I'm warning you now that I write slow burn Klance, so if you're not into that sort of thing then maybe this fic isn't for you, I'm sorry...
> 
> Once again, check out Adrian Von Ziegler if you haven't already.
> 
> I want this to be a fic where the plot is something to stay around for as well as the romance with Klance, Hunk x Shay (idk their ship name I'm sorryT_T) and eventually Shallura as well. This is an AU, so I want to go into detail about the world itself and the lore surrounding it. Don't worry, romance will be a big part, but it will still be more of a sub-plot rather than what I focus on constantly.
> 
> Thank you for reading, updates will continue.
> 
> ~Princess Erii


	3. Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song list for chapter:  
> Old Cobbler's Inn - Derek and Brandon Fiechter  
> Galdrar - Adrian Avon Ziegler  
> Mother Earth - Brunuhville  
> White Rose - Peter Crowley Fantasy Dream
> 
> ~not as many songs because this scene is really particular and I can’t find songs to fit it perfectly~

Lance lunged down the high street. The town was now beginning to wake up, with small crowds gathering in the market place. Because of his taller stature, Lance was able to see over the tops of the dwarves, pixies and half breeds as he pushed past everyone, apologising every now and again. His legs burned, having not been yet exposed to very much exercise that day, but he ignored it, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he turned the corner and headed toward the other side of town.

On his shoulder, Pidge was clinging onto the collar of his undershirt, a mischievous grin plastered to her face. Her glasses bounced on her nose and she had to lift a hand to keep them from flying away, causing her to almost be whisked backwards herself. Far behind them, Hunk staggered through the market place. He still had his fishing rod and bait bucket in his hands. His calls after the human and fairy were met with nothing however, as Lance and Pidge were too far ahead and overcome with excitement to listen to the half dwarf struggling to keep up.

Lance hopped over a puddle and turned into a side street to bypass the masses of people. Fuelled by the promise of stories prisoners had to tell from the Ancient Land, it was more than enough to get him to drop whatever he was doing and listen to them with wide eyes and a childish sense of wonder. Being a citizen of New Altea, he could only see the land once dominated by the elves through second hand encounters. Any time a glimpse of that forbidden world came around, he grabbed the chance to hear about it.

The side street opened out on the other side of town. Now the outer forest was coming into view, and just beyond a thin layer of trees stood the entrance to the dwarven holding cells. As Lance stumbled down the gravelly pathway, a massive egg shaped mound similar in appearance to a termite nest began to show itself from behind a cluster of large oak trees. Many little doors protruded out of its sides, mottling the stony structure. They ranged in size, from being big enough for an elephant to just the right size for humans humans to small enough for the tiniest of fairies.

Lance cut through a grove of fruit trees and ferns to get to the entrance as quickly as possible. He burst out only one corner away from the cell he managed part-time. Rushing round he side of the mound, he was met with the wart covered face of his boss right in front of him. He immediately skidded to a stop, coming face to face with the old dwarf. With his legs shaking impatiently, he quickly bowed his head.  
  
“You're about to get your ass handed to you on a golden platter,” Pidge chuckled. “See ya inside…if you make it.” And with that, she jumped off his shoulder and fluttered up towards another smaller door. However Lance had not noticed.

"Super super sorry, sir," he apologised. The dwarf grunted. "It'll never happen again, I swear,” He continued hastily.

"Like I done believe that for a second, McClain," the dwarf chuckled, taking a swig of his gourd. Lance crinkled his nose as the scent of alcohol wafted through the air.

“I know skipping the last few days was wrong of me," he admitted. "But I promise to make it up to you, sir, I really do."

"Yeah yeah," the dwarf laughed in a drunk haze. He waved a beckoning hand to Lance. "Say, my boy,” he mused. “How’s about I done let yer of the ‘ook if yer could do me a good favour and help me get the done prisoner through trial?"

Lance stared at the dwarf, wondering if he had heard correctly. Usually, he just watched whilst the full time guards helped the prisoners through trial, since he was supposedly not old enough or experienced enough to do it himself.   
  
“Wait wait wait wait wait,” Lance stepped back. “So, I'm not getting fired? And I'm helping with trial?”

"Yer can do it," the dwarf smiled. " I'm too done drunk by now to function, thanks to the bugger in that cell. I'm countin' on yer to done help me out.”

"And I won't let you down, sir," Lance saluted.

“Alright then, McClain,” the dwarf heaved and let out a bellowing laugh. “I need to done get some papers from the main desk. I'll be down in ten.”

Digging into his pocket for a second, he brought out a ring of rusty keys. He threw them to Lance before taking his leave. Lance watched as his boss hobbled round the corner, barely able to stand from his drunken state. Almost as soon as he was gone though, the teenager bolted away. Up ahead were a pair of double doors brandishing a silver seal with the words ‘holding cell seventeen’ engraved into them. Slamming into the wall next to them, Lance fiddled with the keys, unlocked the doors and pulled them open.

A torch flickered next to the entrance, illuminating a steep set of stone stairs spiralling down into darkness. Taking the torch carefully out of its case, Lance began the trek down the stairs. As he went deeper underground, he heard Hunk's voice echoing from the entrance.

“I just saw your boss,” Hunk shouted. “He needs me to help him with something.”

“Okey,” Lance called back up.

After a minute or so, the tight spiral staircase opened up to reveal the cell room. It was large, though most of the space was dedicated to a waiting area for guards. There were a few benches carved out of rock and stalactites formed intricate natural decorations along the walls. On the far side of the waiting area, a small pool had its water tumbling into it from a vast underground lake. It was hidden round a bend in the rocks, unseeable to anyone within the minuscule cells lining the cave.

“So you didn't die?” Pidge asked sarcastically, having made herself at home in a niche on the ceiling.

Lance was putting the torch into a case by one of the many benches. He stopped to stick his tongue out at the fairy, who only pulled a face back and fluttered back to the human’s shoulder.

Going over to the other side of the room, Lance peered into the gloomy depths of the cell. However, it looked as if no one was there. The room was silent, the only noise being water dripping off the stalactites coupled with Lance's breathing. Beginning to think no one was there and this was all a sick prank, Lance rubbed his eyes and tried looking again.

There was a shuffling of blankets. Lance squinted in the low light of his single torch. A grin curled onto his lips as saw what he was after. Lying asleep in the bed hole in the cell’s side wall was the captured prisoner. Lance only had to take a single glance at him before his eyes widened in shock.

He was a half breed. Not a typical half-dwarf or anything, but half human and half Galra. He had fluffy ears and hair so dark it could have been black, though Lance could see hints of lighter violet in the torch light. Yet, the man had pale skin and shorter stature to a Galra — clear human traits. Getting close to the bars, Lance could see hints of violet fur running down the half breed's neck. Taking in a mesmerised breath, all Lance could do was marvel at the unspeakably rare sight before him.

"How long'll he be asleep for?" He murmured to Pidge.

"Dunno," was the fairy's only response as she sat herself down on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance sighed. It could be ages before the half breed woke up. However, the determined human was not going to leave just yet. Even if it took hours for the half breed to come to, Lance would wait it out. He fell back onto the floor and crossed his legs and arms.

He did not move at all. The torch flickered and water dropped into the lake near the cell. It really was a large lake, much larger than what it would initially seem to be. The ceiling sloped backwards to reveal an underground chasm with several outlets of water flowing to different places. The pond in the cell room was one of many, with more lining the lake.

Pidge yawned and rubbed her eyes. It had been a long night for her and the patrol. Picking at her ear, she leaned against Lance’s neck wearily.  
  
“Are we gonna do anything?” She sighed.  
  
“Ssh,” Lance batted at her. “You'll wake him up,” he hissed as Pidge tried to get comfortable again.

As soon as he said that, the bedsheets shuffled. Lance bolted his head up, causing Pidge to completely fall off his shoulder that time. She tumbled down his arm, her wings beating fast as she forced herself back into the air.

"What the hell was that for?" She spat.

"Sorry," Lance murmured, his attention at that moment being more on the cell than his fairy friend.

Something was strange though. The half breed’s breathing was short and shaky as he began to toss around uncontrollably. He sounded like he was in an uncontrollable pain. Lance leaned forward, his forehead furrowing into a confused and anxious frown.

"Shiro!" Keith suddenly screamed, bolting upright.

Lance jumped back with a loud yelp. Pidge bolted up into her stalactite niche with a buzz. The half breed was finally awake. Carefully standing up on shaky legs, Lance leaned up to the bars and held onto them lightly. He was unsure whether or not the half breed had heard him.

"Umm…" Lance cleared his throat, “Hi there. I take it you're the newest arrival here? My boss told me about you. The name’s Lance.” He was talking so fast that he himself had no clue what he was saying. It was strange because usually he was much better at this sort of thing, but then again it was the first time his first impression of a prisoner was them fast asleep before jolting awake in a terrified flurry.

Keith whipped his head round, his eyes glowing golden in the low light. When he saw the human on the other side of the bars, his claws dug into his blanket. Snarling, he stared back. For a few seconds, there was an intense silence.

"So...You ok?" Lance finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

Keith did not reply. Silently he pushed back his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. After having to steady his balance by leaning on the wall, he stumbled wearily over to the bars.

Lance stepped back, not so much out of fear, but from caution. Keith stopped by the bars, his eyes shining in the torch light.

"Where's Shiro?" He growled, glowering at Lance.

Lance glanced to the side, confused. “I’m sorry, but who?” Was his only response.

"Tell me where he is," Keith snarled, smashing his fist against the bars. “That dwarf told me you might know.”

"Woah, easy there," Lance stepped back again. "What're you talking about?"

"Shiro," Keith spat. "What have you done with him? He was with me in the capital. Where did you take him?"

Lance blinked, unsure of what to say. Without anything else to do, he looked up at Pidge, who was watching from amongst the stalactites.

"You know anything?" He called up, and Keith followed his gaze.

Pidge just shrugged and shook her head, not exactly the best response. "He was alone when we found him," she replied.

Lance looked back at the half breed, who was just staring anxiously at him, not even moving. Keith was fidgeting with the fur on the back of his hands. Shifting his weight from left to right foot, Lance wondered what could help the half breed. Another silence followed.

"Go away," Keith finally said as he turned away.

"What?" Lance frowned, this time taking a step forwards.

"Go away," Keith repeated, going back to his bed and flopping down onto the scratchy mattress. "Leave me alone."

"You could at least tell me your name," Lance huffed.

"I said leave me alone," Keith growled.

"Why?" Lance pouted, getting right up to the bars now that he thought the half breed was a safe distance away.

Keith did not reply. He held his head in his hands and looked at the ground, his ears plastered against his hair. Lance decided to try and get the conversation away from Keith's friend ‘Shiro’, instead going for the formalities of introducing ones self.

"So, in case you didn't hear the first time, I'm Lance," he grinned cheerfully in an attempt to change the mood. "I know it must be hard waking up here and all, but everyone here is very welcoming, I can assure you of that."

There was a long, empty silence. Lance blinked, straining his eyes to see what the half breed was doing. Keith was still on his bed, deep in thought. Had he even heard Lance?

"Hey, you ok?" Lance asked a little more seriously, peering through the bars.

Still no reply. Lance remained by the cell for a couple more seconds, then sighed and trudged back to one of the many benches. He grudgingly sat down again, not taking his eyes off the half breed.

"So you're not much of a talker," he shrugged. "No hard feelings, I get you're scared. But to be serious for a second, do you know where you are? I mean, that's not likely since you have to get here by choice and al-"

"Well I don't know!" Keith yelled.

Lance stiffened. Keith was up against the bars again, his eyes blazing and the fur on the back of his neck standing on end. He was growling now, his teeth bared and sharp.

"Easy does it," Lance stuttered, raising his arms soothingly.

"Shut up," Keith cried.

"I was just asking a perfectly normal question," Lance said slowly as he stood up and backed towards the exit.

"Well then if you're so smart you can tell me where I am," Keith snarled.

Lance raised an eyebrow at half breed. It appeared as though he truly had no idea where he was, and Lance could see Keith's hands shaking as they held tightly onto the bars. He thought over his options. Usually, people referred to his home as the End of the World, at least, everyone who arrived in the prison had called it that. However the official name of the kingdom was New Altea. Outsiders needed to be cleared of being a potential threat to the prosperity of New Altea, and by extension the Balmerra, so were not told anything the realm until after trial, including its true name.

"Pidge," Lance called up to his fairy friend. "Should I?"

"No way, Lance!" She yelled defensively, whizzing to his shoulder. "If you wanna be all nice to him, get a story out of him, invite him home to dinner and meet the entire family, it can wait until after trial."

"Okey if you were implying what I think you were implying," Lance pouted, "Then I am deeply disappointed in you, Pidge Gunderson. And yes, I know not supposed to tell him. I just needed moral support."

He turned back to Keith, who was still waiting impatiently behind the bars. Smirking, Lance raised his arms proudly.

"Have you ever heard of the End of the World?" he laughed.

Keith froze, staring at Lance with wide startled eyes and struggling to speak. Lance took that as a yes. At least the half breed was not dumb enough to not even know of the realm of legends.

"Everyone who goes there dies," Keith was able to get out of his mouth.

"Yeah yeah, heard that only about a million times," Lance shrugged. He backed away from the exit and took a few steps up to the cell. "Listen, that's all I can tell you right now,” he said solemnly. “But I swear if you pass trial I can tell you more."

Keith looked at Lance cautiously. In the corner of his eye, he could see Pidge kicking the human’s neck as he mentioned the 'trial'. Lance batted her away but she just fluttered back and resumed beating him up with her tiny body. Everything was spinning in Keith’s head. All of this new information spiralled out of control. He took a deep breath, remembering Shiro's words again to keep composure as best as he could. It was difficult though, as his lingering fatigue and ever-growing anxiety pushed down on him from all sides.

"What's the trial?" He managed to ask.

"Well," Lance started. " The trial is when a mer-"

"Enough, McClain" Lance’s boss’s voice echoed throughout the room.

Lance span round to see the dwarf hobbling into the room, now leaning on a stubby walking cane. Behind him, Hunk was balancing piles of papers in his hands, looking rather sorry for himself. Lance chuckled.  
  
“Shut up," Hunk threw his friend a scowl.

"Hey, no harm was meant man,” Lance put his hands up defensively.

“It looks as though we can begin now, correct?” The dwarf grunted.

Lance's eyes lit up. His face broke out into one of the biggest grins anyone in the room had ever seen from anyone. Excitedly shifting his weight, he quickly looked at the half breed before bounding over to the pond.

The water was clear, tinged with a soft blue light being emitted from crystals below the surface. Gentle ripples from a tiny waterfall flowing into the pond caressed the bank, and a set of carved stone steps leading into the water ran down the side of the cave.

Lance strutted right down to the water's edge, crouching down on the bottom step. He was by the wall, running his fingers along the cold stone until they curled around the entrance to a weathered hole. Reaching in, he fumbled inside for a second before retracting his hand, now holding a small round pebble. He stood up and went back up the steps, testing his arm a couple of times on the way up. When he was back at the top, with a single swift movement, he threw the pebble into the centre of the massive lake. It hit the water in the middle, shattering the surface and sending countless ripples up to the bank and down the waterfall.

"Good shot," the dwarf clapped his hands approvingly.

"Really? Thanks boss," Lance said with an ecstatic smile.

There was movement underwater in the centre of the lake. A large, streamlined shape elegantly twisted round as it swam towards the prison room. The shape stopped just a few metres from the waterfall. A feminine head rose up above the water, followed by shoulders and then the rest of her scaly body. It was a mermaid.

Lance had to speak in the old tongue to communicate with her. " _You're right on time as usual_ ," he complimented.

“ _Only doing my job_ ," the mermaid replied, her blue skin getting covered in rivulets of water as she wrung her hair out. " _Is it the half breed_?" She asked hopefully.

" _You got it_ ," Lance gave her his classic finger guns. The mermaid swished her tail about bashfully.

“First order of business,” Lance's boss coughed to get everyone's attention. “We need to get the paperwork out of the way.”

He was sat down on the bench closest to Keith's cell. Next to him, Hunk had put down the massive load of paperwork and was handing him each sheet to sign off. Most of them were just health and safety contracts or permission slips or date sheets, requiring nothing more than a signature from the dwarf. However at the bottom of the pile were three papers tied together with string. Picking them up carefully, Hunk knew that these were the most important papers on the pile.

“Prisoner,” the dwarf huffed. “I’ll be done needin' yer full name, date of birth, race, ethnicity and reason for enterin' the End of the World.”

Keith was silent, glaring at the dwarf. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then the dwarf sighed and continued.

“Now it’s okey if yer can’t remember much. I've 'ad my done fair share of memory loss myself. Just answer one done question and we’ll be on our way.”

Keith scowled and it looked as though he was going to be uncooperative again, but after an agonisingly quiet minute or so, he actually spoke. “...Keith,” he muttered. “My name is Keith.”

“Very good, boy,” the dwarf nodded, writing the name down on the parchment. He began mumbling to himself. “...And I done know yer race...Circle that box...Sign off here... And we're done with the paperwork. Can you open the cell?” He called up to Pidge, who was picking dirt out from between her toes in her niche.

The fairy sighed, hating the only part of trial she was ever needed in, but obliged. Flitting up to the cell door, she held out her hand, being sure not to touch the metal. Being a fairy, she could not touch metal as it would give her fragile figure fatal burns.

There was a high pitched scraping sound and Keith snarled as the cacophony penetrated his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, he clapped his hands over his sensitive ears. By the time the ruckus had stopped, he was ready to lash out again. Uncovering his ears and opening his eyes, he saw that the swirling strands locking the door shut were gone, leaving only a large metal door on a new pair of hinges the half breed swore were not there before.

Hunk came up to the new door, assessing the technique Pidge had used and whether or not he the metal was still in good condition. “Now my forte is food,” he admitted after a second. “Keith, you know something about metal, right?" He tried lightening the mood by asked the half breed as he peered through the bars.

Keith however was entranced in silent awe. He had just witnessed magic. Real magic. He was so stunned that when Hunk began to pull the door open, he jumped back in fright at the scratching of metal on stone.

"What are you doing?" Pidge hissed.

"Getting the prisoner for trial," Hunk said.

At the sound of being taken out of his cell Keith immediately backed up against his table, growling and trembling.

"Woah, easy man, easy,” Hunk said as he finished prying the door open. “It’ll only be for a second, then we'll let you free, we promise.”

Keith returned the calming words by skidding round the table and backing up against the wall. Hunk glanced back at Lance's boss, but the dwarf was simply writing observations of the half breed's behaviour down on another parchment sheet.

"Let him come out on his own," he eventually looked up and told Hunk.

Hunk nodded. This was his first time getting a prisoner. Before, the guards had taken care of it, but now he had been asked to do it himself, he was a bit more scared than he thought he was going to be. He had not even seen it many times before like Lance had and from stories Lance had told him a few of the prisoners had been a bit violent. But they had not been to hard to deal with for the guards, which gave Hunk a sinking feeling in his stomach.

The half dwarf politely stepped aside, leaving the door wide open for Keith. “You can’t leave until after trial,” he frowned at the terrified half breed.

Seconds ticked into minutes and Keith still refused to move. The dwarf was used to it after having worked there for many decades, however the others were not so patient. Lance was passing the time flirting with the mermaid, Pidge had moved on to doing loops through the stalactites and Hunk had taken out one of Shay's bracelets of fiddle with. Keith observed everyone from the back of the cell, his eyes every so often drifting to the open door.

His ears pricked up as a droplet of water fell from the ceiling. Darting his eyes over everyone one last time, he pushed off the wall. He sprinted madly out of the cell. Everyone was suddenly on their feet and tense.

“Now!” The dwarf yelled.

Keith had almost been at the exit when his body froze. He was silent for a second, then broke out into an ear splitting screech. Behind him in the water, the mermaid had lifted her hand up and had captured the half breed in an ethereal light. Slowly and carefully, she turned him round and let the light carry him towards her in mid air.

Keith was petrified, his eyes fixed on the mermaid. He was no longer floating above the ground, but over the pond. The mermaid now had both arms stretched out to meet him. Keith glided up the waterfall towards her, unable to fight her magic. She cupped her webbed hands round his face.  
  
“ _This will only take a second, I promise_ ,” she said soothingly in the old tongue.

She let out an icy breath and stared deep into Keith's golden eyes. Keith struggled and gargled for a moment, then his body went limp. Out of his head white streaks of light beamed out in in long thin strands. They twisted and turned around him before falling into the pond below. They merged with the water and slowly an image began to form.

Lance knew this was not his place to be and looked away. Now, his boss had stood up and was hobbling down the steps to the water's edge. The image of a gladiatorial arena had swirled onto the surface. The dwarf looked at it for a second then dipped his cane into the pond. The image instantly changed to a dark cell with barely any details except for the shadowy figure of another man in the corner. Continuing the process of flicking through the images the dwarf let out grunts of acknowledgement every now and again.

It was at least ten minutes before he was finished. The last image of a man walking away into the sunset vanished from the pond. The dwarf lifted his cane out of the water and tapped it against the rocks. Lance finally could look back.

“Well?” The human asked.

“He passed alright,” his boss shuddered.

Upon hearing the verdict, the mermaid let go of Keith's face and gently lowered him into the water. As he sank under, the white strands found their way back inside his body. The half breed's head resurfaced just in time for the last strand to wriggle back inside his head. He did not awaken but he was breathing as he bobbed up and down in the shallows.

“Poor guy,” The dwarf muttered as he went back to the papers. Adding a few more notes to the last sheet, he signed it off and collected all of the pieces together. “Hunk, my boy,” he called. “I’ll be done needin' some 'elp again.”

“Sure,” Hunk sighed, pushing off the wall and going to help.

“ _So, you were talking about dinner_?" the mermaid joked at Lance. " _But that shadowy figure in the cell was a real enigma. Might have to call it off to go find him_."

" _Perhaps he just reminded you of this lovely piece of land dweller_?" Lance gestured to himself, smirking.

" _Ha, not a chance_ ," the mermaid laughed. " _Besides I’m already meeting the girls near the brook. See ya round, Lancey Lance_."

And with those final words, she flipped back into the water with a single graceful flick of her tail. The water lapped against the rocks in the cavern, echoing off the walls and high ceiling. Lance blinked irritatedly at the water where the mermaid had been for a second, then turned his attention back to the unconscious half breed floating in the pond.

"What're we gonna do with him?" Pidge asked, fluttering back onto Lance's shoulder.

"Take him back to mama and gramma, I guess," Lance shrugged, flicking the half breed on the forehead to make sure that he was out cold. "Usually ends up happening when they do this."

"Does your family not mind then?" Pidge eyed the human as he began pulling Keith out of the water.

“Nah," Lance chuckled, “Gramma loves the Outsiders. Reminds her of her homeland. Now then, could you use your magic or something to help me get this guy out of here? I swear he's heavier than a fully grown rock golem.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I finally got round to continuing this story after not writing it for months. I want to continue writing this one so badly now and I can get onto the romance subplot and the adventure plot now that all of the set up has happened. To be honest this fic is going to end up being very long and very slow. I have everything planned out but there’s is a lot of content, so it could be a a while beforehand I’m finished.
> 
> ~Princess Erii


	4. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack list for Lance’ part:  
> Tale of Silthârea - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Tales of Gondoa - Laputa Castle in the Sky OST (Joe Hisaishi)  
> Hymn to Annûmara - Adrian Von Ziegler
> 
> Keith’s part:  
> Moonsong - Adrian Von Ziegler  
> Past Story - Fairy Tail OST
> 
> Part 3:  
> Sis Puella Magica - Madoka Magica OST (Yuki Kajura)

Keith’s arrival had caused an atmosphere of wariness to fall upon the inn when he was brought back for recovery. Lance's father had handsomely payed the guards who brought him over from the prison, saying it was the least he could have done for them. Lance's mother had rushed upstairs to prepare a bed and his grandmother had gone straight to the kitchen to make medicines for when the half breed woke up. The rest of the morning had been hectic, however as afternoon descended upon the town, everyone began going back to their usual routine.

The mid-afternoon sun was just beginning to sink lower in the sky. Lance perched lousily on top of his family's water wheel, prying rotten boards out of the frame with a hammer. A few metal rods were lodged into the riverbed in front of it, holding it steady in the bend curling round the side of the inn before heading towards town.  
  
Lance tossed another damp board down to a terrace looking over the bank. Hunk caught it without difficulty and placed it on top of a neatly formed pile. Pidge meanwhile was levitating new boards back up to Lance. Together the three of them had been working on fixing the water wheel for the past few hours.

Pidge sluggishly dropped another board into Lance’s hands. “How many more?” She yawned.

“Not many,” Lance sighed just as wearily. “I can’t be bothered counting. Damn, these are heavy,” he muttered as he tested the board’s weight. “How do you even carry them?”

“Magic,” Pidge said blankly. “They’re not that bad. Guess you just find everything heavy.”

“I do not,” Lance pouted.

“Do too,” Pidge replied. “You called the half breed - Keith, was that his name? Anyway, you called him heavy. He was underweight, small even for a human and starving. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t exactly scream ‘heavy’, does it?”

“He was waterlogged,” Lance argued, then yelped as he almost hammered his fingers instead of a nail into the new board. “Besides,” he continued as if nothing happened, “my amazing brain and rugged good looks will make up for what I - according to you - lack in physical strength.”

Pidge was in no mood to quarrel and dropped down onto Lance's shoulder with a disheartened buzz. Her wings folded down as she lay back against his neck. Lance wanted to bat her away since the film webbing was scratchy and rough against his skin but he could not be bothered at that point. The two of them were exhausted after getting over the excitement of a new arrival to New Altea.

Feeling his eyes drooping, Lance finished his job as soon as he could. Glancing down at Hunk as he finished nailing the last board into place, he felt every muscle in his body go heavy when he was finally able to drop the hammer into a tool box lying in the gutter. On the wall the water wheel was attached to there was a tiny round window big enough to fit a single person through. It was swung wide open and Lance clambered over to it. Pidge felt herself slipping and buzzed lazily into the air again, allowing Lance to shimmy through the porthole before following him inside.

The inn owned a shed which stuck onto the side of the main building. It had obviously been added much later than the original structure, with the walls being no more than wooden planks painted a deep ocean blue. On an upper platform which was supposed to be used to store grain and supplies, Lance had made his bedroom several years ago. His bed was tucked away in the corner, surrounded by hand woven fishing nets decorated with painted pond snail shells. His grandmother could never quite replicate the seaside where she had grown up, but Lance had insisted she made the decorations anyway. After all, it was the stories of his grandmother's homeland which made Lance want to see the Ancient World so badly.  
  
He was about to flop onto his bed when there was a crash. The door on the ground floor burst open. Hunk stomped inside, carrying the old boards with a disgusted snarl on his face. He dumped them by the entrance, scowling up at Lance and Pidge.

“I swear this took longer than we thought,” he heaved, folding his arms across his chest. “‘Half a varga would do the trick’? Says the unulu in the side alley. I was supposed to be sharpening swords or cleaning bolts right now but look at me. I’m stuck here fixing your-“  
  
“Don’t get so worked up,” Lance called, sliding down a rickety ladder to get onto Hunk's level.

“Yeah, I’m too tired to deal with an argument right now,” Pidge grumbled as she perched on one of the footholds.

“Why are we in here anyway?” Hunk asked.

Lance fidgeted with a splinter on the ladder. “I guess I have a slight problem right now,” he said. “The Festival of the Fallen Heroes starts at the equinox and... Remember how we decided last year we were gonna participate the next year. Well it’s next year now and I want a performance ready for the town. Only problem is I can’t pick a story and it’s been weeks since I last played the lute.”

As he was saying this, he spun behind the ladder to a bookshelf and writing desk near all the contraptions used to grind wheat into flour. The bookcase was a tall oak structure with several shelves on it. The sides had intricate carvings of leaves and forest animals embedded into the wood. Leaning on it was a sunflower-coloured lute, complete with painted maple leaves decorating the front.

Lance pulled one of many large books off the third shelf. It was brown and leather-backed, without any fancy pictures on the cover. There was just the title in simple cursive lettering:

‘Adventures of Heroes From Ages Long Passed’.

Pidge took one look at the book and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you wouldn’t bother with ‘boring overused stories’,” she said, swinging around the ladder's hand holds.

Lance fiddled with the string bindings on the spine. “I wasn’t going to,” he admitted, “but I reread it last night. There's some pretty cool stuff in here. I mean, nothing can beat the legend of how sir Gyrgan single handedly protected the Ancient Land from a Galra invasion ten thousand years ago, but that one's so well known it’ll be told by at least one bard this year.”

“But you’re not a bard,” Hunk pointed out. “Besides, there's like a hundred stories in that book. How about the one where lady Trigel tamed a wyvern and brought it back to king Alfor as a gift? Or the one where sir Blaytz rode a serpent all the way from Lake Drea to the ocean? Maybe that one time when king Alfor saved an entire Balmerrin town in the Ancient Land? You see? You’ll find one by the night of the festival.”

“You’ve got a point,” Lance nodded. “How about we write down every story in this book and whittle it down from there? I need a really good one to get everyone's attention. Pidge, you’ll play the flute and use your magic, right? And Hunk, you’ll be on drums. With that, the three of us should show the best performance of the night. ”  
  
“No son of mine should ever need to rely on flashy effects and an already memorable tale,” a strong voice laughed from the door. “Your aura alone gets people to draw their eyes to you. It’s who you are.”

Everyone spun around to see Lance's mother leaning against the doorframe. She was in her bar tender button up shirt with a red corset and skirt reaching the floor. It was only a few minutes until the bar opened. Despite that, she was already balancing a tray on her hand with a plate of cookies on it.  
  
“From Gramma,” she smiled cheerfully as she waltzed into the room and slipped the tray onto the writing desk. “She made extra for you. Don’t let them go to waste, kids.” She turned on her heel and glared almost menacingly at her son and his friends. “Now then. You will all be fantastic at the festival. No matter what tale you pick I will love it. Feel free to practise in the main room any time”.

She pinched Lance's cheek. He playfully batted her hand away and chuckled.

“Thanks Mama,” he said.

“Now there's my little starfish's smile,” his mother grinned. Placing her hands on her hips she strode towards the door, ready to take on anyone who entered her bar. “By the way,” she turned back for a second, “If you really are that worried about which tale to tell, may I suggest something a little more...contemporary, perhaps?”

After those final words, she disappeared outside. The group stood in the shed, staring at the open door with newly found smiles on their faces. Their earlier exhaustion was replaced with the desire to find a story. Hunk was the first to go over to the cookies, scooping the plate up in his large hands.

“There's the McClain family magic right there,” he laughed. “One moment you’re down and stressed, the next you feel alive and there's the sweet smell of cookies in the air.”

“I’m not sure if the second part is specifically a ‘McClain’ thing,” Pidge said, though she herself had whizzed over to the plate and was now sitting cross-legged on it picking up crumbs to snack on.

Hunk began to climb up the ladder, balancing the plate like a professional waiter in one hand and using the other to haul himself up. Lance cocked his head. “Where're you guys going?” he asked as he put his book under his shoulder and followed the half dwarf up.

“We need to get started,” Hunk said as he slid over the top of the platform. “And you’re not gonna relax until we have the best tale in all of New Altea.”  
  
“Fair point,” Lance nodded.

Hunk helped him up the last part of the climb. Looking around his room, Lance’s eyes fell on a story book he kept separate from the others. It was on his bedside table, the emerald green cover having accumulated some dust after having not been opened for several years. It was massive, with the pages being filled with illustrations of a white knight going about his adventures. Lance wandered over to it and ran his fingers along the front cover, leaving trails in the dust. He took a second to marvel at the intricately painted picture of the knight standing next to the queen - an eleven woman with tanned skin, long white hair and a wreath of summer flowers on her head.

Lance picked the book up for the first time in years. It was heavier than he remembered it being. Perhaps he was as weak as Pidge said? After getting used to the weight, he spun round to show Hunk and Pidge. What he was met with was Hunk sprawled out in his bed, his face stuffed with cookies, and Pidge messing with the fishing nets. This was usual for when they came over and Lance was not shocked by such casual behaviour, but when his eyes fell on the nearly empty plate, he felt a playful anger bubbling inside him.  
  
“Gramma made those for me and you know it,” he laughed and threw the book at Hunk, only for it to miss and his the wall with a thud.

§§§

A gentle breeze welcomed Keith back to consciousness for the third time that day. His eyelids fluttered open wearily to a rich ocean blue. For a second the half breed thought he was dead, until the glowing crystal lamps dangling above him came into focus. This was not the afterlife but the ceiling of a bedroom, and Keith was lying in a bed.

Warbling birdsong and a soft wind drifted through an open window, the same blue which was on the ceiling covered every wall, there were fishing nets and picture frames strung up everywhere as well as shell ornaments placed on a desk in the corner. Instead of a chair, a three legged writing stool sat next to it. Opposite Keith's bed a closed door hid the rest of the strange place from view. Evening sunbeams shone into the room, casting everything in their amber and golden rays.

Keith took in a massive gulp of air. His body went heavy. He felt the pillows and mattress envelop him as he relaxed his aching muscles properly for the first time that day. He did not want to move or go back to sleep, fearing that it was all just a dream.

Suddenly his ears twitched. Footsteps were tapping outside the room. They made their way down the other side of the wall and stopped before the door. Keith went tense again but found his body was too weak to move. In his exhausted state all he could do was growl feebly.

The door creaked open. A little old lady waddled into the bedroom with a tray carrying a bowl of water and several cloths. There was also a broth and mug of some kind of steaming hot drink. Keith snarled when he saw her, but she simply returned the gesture with a soothing smile. Her eyes crinkled and her tanned skin was almost glowing in the evening sunlight.

Keith shuddered. His mind was telling him to run but his body physically could not lift itself up. For now, all he could do was make the lady know she was not wanted there. Unfortunately, his attempts at scaring her off were failing. The lady passed the foot of the bed and slipped the tray onto the windowsill, the entire time keeping her smile.

“Good to see you’re awake,” she said with a croaky elderly voice. “You were out much longer than most. But don’t be scared. Old Jimena here will heal you right up.”

She took the bowl and the cloth off the tray and placed them a little closer to the bed. Not needing to check Keith's temperature, she went straight to dipping a cloth in the water. She wrung it out, folded it up and tried to put it on Keith's forehead. The half breed immediately tore his head away from her, hissing and baring his teeth with flashing yellow eyes. It took every ounce of strength he had, but at that point he was too afraid to notice the pain he had just caused himself.

Jimena did not force the half breed to do anything. Instead, she pulled up the stool sat down to rest her aching bones. After a few minutes of nothing, Keith glanced back at her. When he saw her not trying to hurt him his growl faded to a low gurgle in his throat. Jimena gave him another friendly smile.

“Like this,” she demonstrated, putting the cloth on her forehead. “To stop a fever.”

She dipped the cloth back in the water and tried again. Keith did not move away this time, though he was still trembling uncontrollably. A terrified shiver went through him when the cold fabric touched his skin. However only seconds later he found his heated face cooling. Letting out a deep sigh, he sank his head into his pillows.  
  
Jimena nodded her head and clapped quietly. “Very good,” she encouraged. “Now then, are you ready to eat now or do you want me to come back in a little while?”

Keith's ears pricked up at the mere mention of food. It had been days since he last ate and he could not hide the fact that he was starving. Jimena had picked up on this too as she was already bringing the tray over. She unfolded four legs from the bottom and rested it on the bed, over Keith's lap. She took the hot drink and placed it back on the window sill.

Keith could smell a steaming broth. His eyes sparkled with a new found life at the thought of being able to eat at last, so when it turned out he was too weak to sit up properly, Jimena took a spoonful. Blowing on it, lifted it to a Keith. The half breed sniffed at it, the fear that it was poisoned being pushed to the back of his mind. He sipped it.

It tasted amazing. Granted at that point Keith would have eaten anything given to him but this was by far one of the best things he had ever tasted. Only a few spoonfuls later the half breed was trying to wriggle upright to be able to take the bowl and finish it himself, the thought of eating giving him strength. Jimena chuckled, setting the broth aside and helping Keith sit up at an angle so the he was still lying down a little. Keith did not even bother with the spoon, instead just gulping down the broth from the bowl.

“Slow down, slow down,” Jimena raised her hands. “You’ll get a stomach ache if you eat too much at once.”

However the bowl was already empty. Jimena sighed but kept her friendly aura. Picking up the hot drink, she shook her head a little.

“I thought you would do this,” she laughed. “So I prepared this to soothe you.”

She handed Keith the drink which by now was at a comfortable temperature. Keith swiped up the mug and took a swig. As the liquid rushed down his throat he gagged.

“It’s bitter, I know,” Jimena said. “It’s meant to be like that. Tasty medicine doesn’t work after all.”

Keith eyed Jimena for a second, then gulped down the rest. He did not care if it tasted bad, anything would suffice. When he was finished, Jimena settled him back down under the covers. Examining him again, she nodded approvingly.  
  
“You look much better already,” she said. “For now just sleep. Get your strength back before you get up and walk around. The quicker you recover, the quicker my grandson will stop hassling me to see you,” she joked.

She gently stroked Keith's hair. The feeling was so comforting that the half breed began to purr softly. Jimena stayed by his side for a short while longer before tidying up her tray and leaving without a sound. Keith meanwhile felt himself slowly beginning to fall asleep again. His stomach had food in it for the first time in days, he was in a nice bed and had someone actually taking care of him. It reminded him of a time long ago. Before the arena. Before Shiro.

The sound of a drum being hit in a lively rhythm began to make its way into the bedroom from the window. Soon after it was joined by the plucking of a lute and then finally a pipe. The noise startled Kieth back to full consciousness. The only instruments he was used to hearing were the trumpets used to signal the arrival of a gladiator into the arena. It had been years since he had heard anything else.

Somehow the music began to feel natural to the half breed, as if he had been listening to it all his life. A male voice began singing after a minute or so. Keith could not understand a word of it, but it made him feel something he had never felt before. The trills and rolled ‘R’ sounds made a familiar warmness well up inside him.

Eventually, the voice began singing in an understandable language. Keith listened to it and soon realised that a story was being told.

“She reached a hand to it,” the voice sang, “and it tried to swipe her away. But she called upon the spirits, and it finally saw her way.”

The voice carried on like this for a while then went back into the strange tongue for a little bit. In the end the song trailed into the plucking of strings, then went quiet. Keith strained his ears to get one last listen but the song was over.

“I don’t like it,” the singer's voice sighed.

“That was fine,” a feminine voice encouraged. “We’ll tell the best tale at the festival. You have me and Hunk backing you with our instruments and my magic can add to the performance. Don’t worry. Were already the best.”

Keith listened as the male voice went back at the female voice with harsh self criticism. The entire time, he felt his hands clenching into a ball. The music had sounded beautiful to him. How could the man not realise? Keith wanted to get up to tell him but he was still to weak to.

Suddenly, Kieth recognised Jimena's voice as she called out to all three musicians. “I thought I told you no practising under the half breed's window. He won’t sleep with the music. Go to the riverside if you need somewhere. The half breed needs to get better.”  
  
Since Keith’s ears were better than a human's, he picked up on a quiet mutter from the man as he seemed to be getting up and leaving.

“Yeah yeah, I get it Gramma. You don’t have to remind me,” he said. “You’re never like this with other arrivals though...”

  
§§§

  
Over the next week Lance did not see Keith even once. First of all, he started going back to work. Not very surprisingly, no new refugees arrived and so by the end of the week he vowed never to spend four hours standing outside the prison ever again. Hunk did not believe him and neither did Pidge. He was just going to wait until another prisoner arrived then would bound back to the cells again.

Outside of work hours him Pidge and Hunk had been preparing for the festival like crazy. His room was a clutter of open story books, scrolls and posters dedicated to the fallen heroes of ages past. He had even found some old figurines of a few mighty warriors. The three friends would stay in his room practising for hours at a time, making sure that every mannerism and movement they made gave life to the story.

Keith on the other hand spent all of his time confined to his room. If he was awake then Jimena was sure to be with him. When he was asleep she locked the windows with bindweed - a temperamental plant even fairies could not manipulate. Pidge once tried looking through the window while Keith was awake but she had been met with Jimena tossing a sandal at her. The fairy never tried to look again.

By that point everyone in the house was curious about half breed. Every time someone saw Jimena they would ask to see Keith. Every time Jimena always said the same thing:

“You can see him when the nymph bows before you.”

That was just a way of saying ‘you can see him when he’s ready’ and everyone had heard the statement many times before. By the fifth day Lance had resorted to just giving his grandmother puppy-eyes and praying it would work. Lance's mother was not much different. Neither was Lance's father, who worked in the back of the inn with the financial side because no one else wanted to.

When the sun rose on festival day, bunting and streamers cascaded down the houses and the New Altean flag was proudly swaying above the town hall. The market place was awry with townsfolk setting up exclusive stalls selling products from all over the kingdom. In the main square a magnificent stage had been set up for bards to tell their tales.

By early evening, everyone was buzzing for the celebrations to begin. At the inn, Lance and Pidge were getting the final pieces ready for the performance. Lance's mother was busy at the counter; it was the most business she had received in a while. Balancing three trays on her arms, she danced round the tables slipping tankards of ale to various guests. Everyone was getting drunk early to enjoy the evening to its fullest.

Lance and Pidge were planning to meet Hunk in town. Lance quickly stuffed the last few props he was taking into his bag. He gave the book he had taken the story from a quick look and placed it on the kitchen table since had no need for it anymore. It was the same emerald one containing the white knight tales he had found in his room. Standing in the doorway which lead from the kitchen to behind the counter, he saw his mother was conversing with a dwarf. The dwarf saw him there, and got his mother to turn her attention to her son. Her eyes lit up when she saw him and she quickly finished talking to her guest. Stepping up to Lance, she beamed.

“Go do us proud,” she slapped her hands on Lance's shoulders. “I have no doubt that your story will be the best,” she said as she hugged her son tightly.

Lance grinned. Pidge eyed her friend, then his mother. Just as Lance turned to leave through the back exit, Jimena waddled in from the garden. Under her arm was a basket of apples which she placed on the counter. She rummaged around in one of the cupboards and brought out a crimson bundle one of the guards had given to Lance's father when Keith had arrived. On the way through, she picked up the book on the table and went over to another door leading to a staircase.

Lance’s smile turned into a confused frown. Keith had been taking up most of his grandmother's time all week and he barely got to see her anymore.

“Gramma?” Lance asked. “When can I see Keith?”

Jimena stopped but barely turned to her grandson. “When the nymph bows to you,” she said sternly.

Lance did not say anything, rather he nodded silently. He got the same answer again. Pidge knelt on his shoulder, watching Jimena disappear upstairs. Lance picked up his lute, which was resting by the door. Strumming it a few times, he got his smile back on his face before stepping outside.

“Quick last hug?” his mother asked.

“Sure,” Lance smiled as his mother swept him up.

Leaving the house, Lance had a spring in his step as he walked down the street. Pidge was playing a quick melody her butterfly leg pipes as Lance tuned his lute. He began to play as him and Pidge followed the path down the hill. The golden evening sun coloured the sky amber with fluffy pink clouds dotting the sea of orange. The forest around the two friends was dark and shadowy, though nothing dangerous lived close to the densely populated border.

Pidge looked back at the house for a second just before the inn disappeared behind the trees. She immediately froze. Keith’s window was wide open and someone was looking out. She hit Lance on the neck a couple of times.

“Lance!” she said excitedly. “It’s Keith. He’s up.”

Lance stopped walking, his fingers curled round the strings and about to play the next note. He was slow to turn and look, and by that point Keith was gone. Lance just sighed. He was not in the mood for getting an update about the half breed anymore. He continued to the bridge, playing his song as if he had never stopped. Pidge shrugged, but ultimately decided to play her pipes again. As the sun sank behind the tree line, the two entered the bustling town centre with a story to tell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Now I’m getting back into the hang of writing, editing and posting again. Something tells me this is going to be my favourite fanfiction to write since I started out. I have so many ideas and can’t wait to share them with you! 
> 
> Having finally thought about the plot as a whole, there might be sequels(?) if I end up not fitting all of the plot points into this fic. Since Baldŷr is such s big world and I wanna give you the chance to explore it whilst dishing out some Klance, sequels might be my best option.
> 
> BTW I’m planning for this fic to be around 100,000 words give or take about 10,000. Argh I wanna tell you all my ideas but I can’t because that’s spoilers and I can’t spoil you coz that ruins the fic and then I might as well not write it:( Oh well, guess I’m gonna have to just write it.
> 
> Until my next update.
> 
> ~Princess Erii


	5. The Festival of Fallen Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna stop with the OST recommendations... mainly because I can’t find enough ones to fit chapters anymore. Oh well, I’m sure no one will miss it. Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

Keith had been trying to cut the bindweed locking his window shut for the past few days. He only had his claws and teeth to help him and Jimena had been checking the room at least once every few hours, so it had been tricky to cut through the plant under her radar. However, it finally looked as though he had succeeded. With one final slash of his claws the strands of weed were pulled taught and ripped in half. The window flew open with a clatter and a chilled evening breeze swept into the bedroom, lifting Keith’s hair with it and caressing his heated cheeks. At last he could take in a long awaited breath. The scent of pine and dirt filled his nostrils - a nostalgic smell he had not experienced for many years.

That was when he heard it. The soft plucking of strings was carried on the wind. The startled half breed darted his eyes around the ground, trying to see the musician in the rapidly fading light. He caught a glimpse of a man wandering down the pathway towards town. Keith wanted to hear more of the music and leaned out of the window a little.

Unfortunately as if his plans had knowingly been thwarted, the door behind him creaked open. Upon seeing Keith leaning out of the window, Jimena yelped in shock and almost dropped the bundle and book she was carrying. Without even having to turn round Keith immediately sprang back to bed, his heart racing anxiously.  
  
Jimena was far more serious this time than Keith ever remembered her being. She glanced at the half breed with a solemn frown, causing Keith’s ears to fold back on his head and his fur to bristle up. For the first time since he had woken up in that room, Jimena was genuinely frightening him. The elderly woman saw Keith’s look of fear and quickly shook her head. However she took some time before speaking.

“I thought this might happen,” she sighed, putting the bundle and book down on the writing desk. “It’s a good thing I decided to talk to you now, before anything could happen.”

Keith gave Jimena a confused look and shuffled so he was sitting cross legged on his bed. He had no idea what she could mean by ‘anything could happen’. Jimena sat down on her stool (which had been tucked away under the desk) and began unwrapping the bundle. Keith was cautious about her behaviour, however the urge to see what she had brought with her beckoned him over. When he was by the elderly woman’s side, she was busy unfolding the crimson fabric. It only took a glance at what was under the layers for Keith’s eyes to widen in shock.

“My cloak?” He stuttered. “How did you get that? Who gave it to you?” He did not realise the harshness in his voice and his eyes shining golden. “Tell me!” He ripped the black cloak from the bundle.

While Keith was stumbling over the cloak so he could see it clearly, Jimena spoke up. “This does not belong to you,” she said coldly. “I brought it because I need you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you.”

Keith stopped trying to find all of the intricate markings on the cloak as Jimena pulled an old brass key out of her skirt pocket. She unlocked one of the bottom draws on the writing desk. Keith watched her, no less puzzled than he was a minute ago. Jimena took a black bundle from the draw and held it out to the half breed.

“You’ll find that this is yours,” she said.

Keith threw the other cloak onto the bed and snatched the one from his cell into his hands. As he held it close to his chest something fell out of the fabric and hit the floor with a metallic clang. His ears turned to the sound and he began pulling the unfolded cloak up to see what had fallen. Before he could find whatever it was though, Jimena spoke up.

“These were the only belongings on you when you arrived,” she said. “They let you keep the cloak in your cell to calm you down when you woke up, but the other thing...” she paused as Keith finally found what had fallen.

The half breed froze. Lying on the floor was a dark metallic knife. A gemstone insignia emitted a strange purple light from where it was embedded in the hilt. Keith immediately dropped the cloak and jumped on the blade, swiping it up and holding it close to him. He thought he had lost it many years ago when the soldiers had taken him away from his home, yet somehow it had found its way back to him. Checking to see if it was the same knife he remembered, he saw it was indeed the one. He felt tears welling up in his eyes and he choked as he tried to hold them back.

“I take it you know where this knife is from?” Jimena spoke up, although she already guessed what the answer would be.

Keith had to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, but quickly responded with a nod. With that confirmation sealed, a small grin began to form on Jimena’s face.

  
**§§§**

  
Since the festival of fallen heroes was such a massive event and was celebrated all over the realm, tonight was only the opening evening. Over the next week various events were going to take place. That night the streets were filled with the deep orange glow of torchlight and upbeat music filled the air. Stalls were surrounded by visitors and clients from every walk of life seeking to buy exclusive merchandise and gifts. All of the streets were filled to bursting with tourists and holiday makers buying things, drinking to their hearts’ content or simply having a good time. Everywhere was rank with the scent of alcohol but by that point the adults (and even some of the kids) were too wasted to notice.

The first night was remembrance eve, when the lives of fallen heroes were reflected upon. At midnight a bonfire was lit on the biggest stage in the town square and people could pay their respects by throwing handmade charms into the flames. It was also the first night where bards could tell their renditions of classic tales with hopes of garnering fans from further afield than their hometowns.

Lance had to charge and force his way between the various groups and races all the way down Main Street. He stumbled into the square, protectively clinging to his lute. The main stage was currently being used by a pixie bard to tell the story of Lady Trigel and the Wyvern. Lance let out a deep sigh of relief, glad he had not picked that tale. If he had, everyone would have gotten bored of him within minutes.

A few smaller stages were set up in other parts of town however the main stage was where Lance was heading. A crowd of professional bards had already gathered backstage by the time Lance trotted round the back of the structure. Because the stage was free to use, there was no set order for the bards to follow. They gave the amateur kid one glance before going back to conversing amongst themselves, not expecting him to get a turn to play.

Lance glared back at them for a moment and his heart sank for a second. Luckily that feeling was quickly scared out of the boy when he felt a buzzing by his ear. Out of instinct, he batted the sound away.

“Ayo, Lance?” Pidge pouted, her face stuffed with steamed cakes from a stall selling food from the Northern Quadrant.

Lance stuck his tongue out at his friend. “Did you see Hunk on your little detour to the food court?” He asked nonchalantly, completely breaking from his disheartened mindset.

“What do you think the answer is?” Pidge asked blankly.

“Oh, I don’t know?” Lance shrugged. “Perhaps it’s only as likely as a mermaid with scales.”

“Didn’t wanna interrupt him though,” Pidge said the let out an impish chuckle. She continued as if it was normal behaviour and Lance did not seem to care either. “I saw him with a special someone,” The fairy grinned.

The two of them both laughed at that. Lance leaned against the back frame of the stage, gave his lute a strum and began singing a corny love song. It brought him annoyed stares and grumbles from the ‘far superior’ bards, but the boy refused to stop and even let a little whistle sneak in.

After a few minutes Hunk waltzed round the back of the stage looking rather pleased with himself. He had a massive smile on his pastry-stuffed face and there was a noticeable spring in his step. Under his arm he was carrying his drums along with two stick-like beaters.

“What’s gotten into you?” Pidge questioned, pretending not to know where he had been.

“Shay’s watching tonight,” Hunk said excitedly through chewing. “When I told her I was performing she insisted on coming along. She’s in the audience right now.”

Lance pushed off the wall. “Look at you, big guy,” he joked. “Getting all them ladies to come see you,” he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows.

“It’s just Shay,” Hunk denied Lance’s claim as he swallowed, but his face told a different story. “Now then, I wanna go out there and show her what we’ve been working towards for so long.”

“You mean the past week?” Pidge asked.

“Shut it,” Lance flicked the fairy in the stomach. Pidge responded by hitting him on the head with a pebble she levitated off the floor.

“Guys,” Hunk interrupted before the situation escalated, “the pixie’s finishing. We should get ready to go on before the next bard beats us to it.”  
  
Indeed the pixie was wrapping up on the scene where king Alfor saw the wyvern for the first time. Lance could see a dwarf getting up to go on and immediately bolted for the stage entrance. Pidge whizzed behind him and Hunk was left apologising for a second before catching up to the others. They waited in the wings, wanting a surprise entry to get the audience’s attention.

“By the Gods,” Hunk had a sudden stroke of stage fright. “What if I mess up the rhythm? What if you forget your lines? It’ll be in front of Shay! Oh God Lance what’s going on?”

“Relax, big guy,” Lance said as he patted the half dwarf firmly on the back. “Now come on, Pidge is starting.”

Pidge flew into the air above centre stage. Luckily she was too small for most of the audience to see unless they were looking closely. She raised her hands. Sparks fell from her palms like raindrops and when they hit the stage, they erupted into exploding smoke bombs. Eyes turned to the stage as a perfectly timed breeze blew the inky blue haze away. As the smoke cleared, Lance and Hunk appeared in the centre, with Pidge flying down to sit on Hunk’s shoulder.

Lance took a deep breath, building tension with a brief silence. His fingers trembled slightly, but he let the adrenaline course through his veins. He plucked the first note. Hunk saw that as a sign and struck his drum. As the half dwarf began to play a rhythm Lance began to play his tune. He opened the story with a narration.

“Once upon a time,” he began. Pidge blew her first note on her pipes. “In an era not to far from our own, the White Knight was travelling across an icy plain.”

A surprised murmur spread across the crowd. No one had thought that anyone would be so daring mention the White Knight since he had not received an official declaration of falling or even a funeral. This was the reaction Lance had wanted. To stir up his audience and send them on a breathtaking journey of a story was the way he had imagined it.

He continued the tale as Pidge played her pipes. Sparkling ice crystals began to grow seemingly from nowhere and fluttered round Lance in time with the drums. They came together to form the White Knight clad in pristine armour trekking through the snow.

“But this was no ordinary quest for our hero,” Lance said. “For this was the quest of Nannuk.”

As the crowd continued to gather, Lance began to sing.

 _Tense limbs and eyes shut tight_  
The snow enveloped his armour bright  
This plain seemed never ending  
The winds the calls of hell descending

 _How the blizzard whistled and howled_  
How the wind was crying out  
But with it came another sight  
The sight of the mighty Knight of White

 _He followed his path for a night and a day_  
For how much longer I cannot say  
Fighting the blizzard’s endless blows  
And death calling from below

 _Until a mountain he finally saw_  
And on it a cave with gaping jaws  
Inside it did the White Knight go  
To take down his most ancient foe

 _Guided by the Lions’ power_  
He found the creature who did devour  
His village when he was but a child  
And now lived out here in the wild

 _The final battle was to begin_  
The great Nannuk stood over him  
With sword in hand and shield held high  
The White Knight let out a battle cry

 _As the fight went on and on_  
The White Knight felt his energy gone  
Nannuk struck him and he fell  
To the ground...

Lance paused for dramatic effect.

 _The Lions granted him their spirits_  
He took a shard of ice and with it  
He struck down Nannuk with a stab to the heart  
And from this world the beast did part

 _When he returned the people cheered_  
For this tale would be known for years  
Of who the White Knight brought down that day  
The White Knight...

  
**§§§**

  
Now that the sun had dipped behind the trees, the crystals above Keith and Jimena were beginning to glow more vividly, giving the room an azure tint. Jimena carefully picked up the book she had brought up and went over to the bed. She placed it on the covers next to the half breed, who was still entranced by his knife. She took in a deep breath before she pulled up her stool and turned the book round so it was facing Keith the right way.

Keith glanced over at it. He had to take a moment to figure out why she had given it to him and scanned the cover with a puzzled frown. He could see a knight clad in white armour standing next to what Keith assumed as some sort of royal. The knight’s helmet was under his arm and his face was clearly visible. He had short hair with a black tuft at the top. His face looked strong and confident and his eyes had a certain aura to them even in a painting.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat. He gripped his knife tightly. He was trying to speak but he was so overcome with shock that he was struggling to say anything audible.

“...H-How is th-this..?” He burbled.

“Do you know this man?” Jimena asked with an edge of urgency in her voice.

Keith ran his claws across the painting. In that moment only one word could leave his lips.

“...Shiro..?”

Jimena let out a surprised and somewhat relieved gasp. Keith darted his eyes up at her to see her with a furrowed brow and her hands over her mouth. She was trying to remain calm, however the mere mention of that name made her tremble so much she almost toppled off her stool.

“Are you sure it’s him?” she rasped. “His name is Takashi Shirogane.”

Keith’s heart kept into his mouth at the mention of that name. It had been brief, but he had heard it just once when he was in the arena, when the Galra helping him escape had called Shiro that. He nodded profusely. “Yes, that’s him. That’s Shiro.”

Jimena threw her head into her hands. “The White Knight lives!” She cried out. “Oh thank the Gods the White Knight lives!”

“The- the White Knight?” Keith stuttered. “What?”

“Takashi Shirogane,” Jimena whimpered impatiently. “The knight of legends, thought to have perished to the hands of the Galra empire but you - you know of him. Tell me Keith, where is he?” she questioned the half breed.

Keith was taken back by Jimena’s sudden change in personality. “If you’re really talking about Shiro... he’s not here,” he frowned. “I...I don’t know where he is,” he muttered as his gaze switched from the book to the knife and back again.

“I don’t care about that,” Jimena chastised Keith. “Where did you last see him?”

Keith had a worried inkling in the back of his head that him and Jimena were not talking about the same person. From the cover, the two men looked almost identical. The only differences were that the Shiro Keith knew had a white tuft rather than a black one and a scar running across his face. However Keith knew the scar came from an arena battle against a Southern Giant Lizard and it was normal for prisoners under intense amounts of stress to have their hair turn white over time. His heart was in his ears as the thought of this man being the same Shiro became more and more likely.

“We met a year ago,” Keith began. “I was in the arena when-“ He flinched, recalling the memories of starvation and torture he had endured there. He attempted to shake off the feeling, though the shadows of it remained with him as he told the rest of his story. “-When he was brought to my cell. He was a prisoner of war as far as I knew. In the arena he was an amazing fighter. After a while everyone called him ‘Champion’ because of how many creatures he killed.”

“I see,” Jimena said. “When did you last see him?”

“It was on the night I escaped,” Keith shuddered. “A couple of Galra who had been serving as cell guards broke us out. They had these cloaks,” he pointed to the cloak next to him, “they were from an organisation called the Blade of Marmora.”

“I am aware of the Blade,” Jimena said. “Carry on.”

“But when we got to the escape horses, the centuries were already onto us - how do you know the Blade?” Keith stopped.

Jimena froze, her lips sealed in a tight line. “That’s not important now,” she shook her head. “Please finish.”

“The last I saw, Shiro was running to fight the centuries and one of the Blade of Marmora Galra was pulling me away. Then I felt something hit my head and the next thing I knew, I was in a cell on this side of the end of the world.”

When Keith had finished telling the rest of his story, he looked up at Jimena. The woman looked as if she had aged several years in the span of a few minutes. Silence enveloped the two of them for a while after. Eventually Jimena spoke up, albeit in a much more laboured voice.

“The Blade is on the move,” she said sternly. “If the White Knight lives, then there is hope for us. They know it. That’s why they sent you here. Don’t you see, Keith? You are the sign they have sent telling us to advance onto the empire’s territory. The revolution has finally begun! After ten thousand years the Ancient Land will return to its rightful heir. We must get this information to the queen as soon as we can, for the sake of both our realms.”

She bolted to her feet and immediately stumbled forward. Keith jumped up and caught her, being as gentle as he could with her fragile body. He sat her down on the bed but she was still too eager to get up and was fighting against the half breed’s grasp. Her hands were trembling as they found their way into his and she was on the verge of tears.

Keith was certain that Jimena had lost her mind. _I’m a sign?_ he thought. _The Blade want me to stir up a rebellion? But I’m just a gladiator. I’m not a leader. That’s Shiro’s job. If the Blade wanted to start something as large as a war, surely they would have sent Shiro himself back rather than me._

Still, something else was not right. “Please tell me...” Keith muttered. “How do you know the Blade of Marmora?”

Jimena was silent for a moment. “I cannot tell you everything,” she sighed, “for now, just know that they saved me a long time ago and since then, I have owed them my life. They told me to wait for a sign and I waited, Keith. I waited for seventy long years and now you show up with news that our greatest hero lives. This is important. So important that we cannot waste another second.”

At last the elderly lady broke free of Keith. She shook him off as he tried to help her and strode out of the door as if she had suddenly reverted back to her youth. Keith did not move from the bed. His head was spinning at the information overload he had just received. Nothing made sense and it did not look as though Jimena was going to explain any more of herself to him.

“Keith,” Jimena called from down the corridor. “Follow me, this is an emergency.”  
  
Within seconds she reappeared in the doorway and soon was dragging the poor half breed out of the safety of his bedroom. Keith hissed at her for the first time since they met and his teeth were bared. Not wanting to hurt her, scaring her off seemed to be his best option. Unfortunately for him Jimena ignored all signs of aggression and continued to haul him down the corridor and eventually down the stairs. In this flurry Keith had to wonder how such an old feeble lady could have so much strength all of a sudden.

The two of them burst into the kitchen. Keith was still grabbing at the doorframe for dear life but Jimena persisted and gave him one last hard tug. He fell backwards, leaving scratch marks on the wood. He tumbled to the floor, scraping the stone tiles with his claws. Immediately he got on all fours and growled up at Jimena like a dog. However Jimena slammed the door to the upper floors and locked it shut, leaving Keith stranded in the kitchen.

This was the first time the half breed had ever seen any other part of of the inn other than the bathroom across the corridor. Almost everything there was to see garnered a new scent, sight or sensation from Keith as he scanned the room. There was more food here than he had ever seen in his life. Several pots were bubbling away over a crackling fire and in an oven a spitted pig was turning round automatically thanks to a plethora of cogs and pistons. Under the counter and table were sacks of fruits and vegetables and in the corner gigantic barrels of ale filled the room with the stench of alcohol. There was a water pump by large sink where plates and bowls were stacked up as high as the ceiling where bunches of herbs were strung up among hooks of fresh meat.

“Here,” Keith turned to see Jimena holding out a strangely shaped purple fruit.

“Where am I?” Keith glowered.

Behind another shut door to Keith’s right, inaudible conversations interspersed with upbeat music echoed into the kitchen. There was a sudden uproar of laughter which shook the very foundations of the inn. The half breed screeched with fear and skidded under the table. He hid himself behind a sack of potatoes, his teeth bared and claws out as if preparing for an attack.

“It’s alright,” Jimena soothed, “they do not want to hurt you. They only came here to get drunk and eat.”

As she said this, she went over to the door. She could hear groans and hisses coming from Keith but nevertheless swung the door open and hobbled through to the main bar. It was several minutes before she returned and by that point, Keith was tightly curled up under the table, having built a fort out of sacks and crates.

This time a woman wandered through behind Jimena, balancing several empty trays of her hands and arms. She had to put them away before she could get a good look at Keith, who Jimena was unable to coax out from under the table before the woman could get to him. The woman crouched down and peered into the dark mess of sacks and crates. When she saw the half breed a massive smile spread across her face.

“You must be Keith,” she grinned. Keith shakily glanced up at her. She looked extremely similar to the guy named Lance who he had seen in the cells, except she was a woman and had longer hair. “Are you glad to be up and around at last?” The woman asked.

Keith shuddered and growled. Just like Jimena, the woman barely flinched and carried on smiling. She reached a hand in like she was trying to pet a cat, but Keith only hissed with vibrantly glowing eyes. Jimena intervened.

“Keith, don’t worry. She’s my daughter,” she said.

Keith stopped growling, though he did not stop glaring. Very slowly, he pushed back the potato sack. He gave the woman a thorough scan from head to toe. She held her hand out again and he sniffed at it. He crawled forward a little.

“That’s right,” the woman encouraged.

Keith froze when she spoke, but ultimately carried on. He let his head poke out from under the table. The woman stood back to allow him room to get out. It took several minutes and Keith kept on scuttling back under every time the guests in the bar began to raise their voices. Jimena and the woman both stayed calm.

At last Keith was crouched on the floor next to the woman. She was down in his level and he blinked at her.

“Do you want me to help you up at all?” The woman asked.

Keith cocked his head, but the woman held out both her palms to him. His fingers twitched and he found himself reaching out to place his trembling hands into hers. She was very careful when pulling him to his feet and he was reluctant to stand. Jimena had sat down on a worker’s chair by the time Keith was up.

“Very good,” the woman beamed, causing Keith’s ears to liven up a little.

“Celia,” Jimena’s voice cut through the noises from the bar. It made Keith jump, but by that point he was used to the elderly lady’s tone. “This is an emergency,” Jimena said. “You must round up the family. Where’s that blasted husband of yours? Lestol?! I need to speak with him immediately. Oh why did Silvia have to move to Avender? Then again, getting her children into this might be dangerous...At least Manuel is in the capital, that makes things easier for us. Lance needs to hurry home. I swear that boy has his head in the clouds sometimes. We all must be here.”

Just as she said those words the back door burst open. Lance, Pidge, Hunk and Shay stumbled into the kitchen, grins of joy plastered onto their faces. It looked as though Hunk had been drinking, not heavily, but enough so that he seemed out of sorts and had to lean on Shay for support. Pidge looked much worse, being too young to drink but sneaking a few sips anyway. Now she was laughing hysterically at something as she slapped Lance on the shoulder. Lance however was hyper enough off the adrenaline rush he had received earlier.

“Mama, they loved us out there!” Lance called, expecting his mother to be in the bar. “They’re making the bonfire now and I thought we could-“

He was cut short when he saw his mother and grandmother staring at him in a mix of worry and horror. He had never seen his family so serious before. Jimena had the coldest glare Lance had ever seen on her. Slowly, the boy’s head turned to his mother, who tried to hide a suddenly scratched hand.

There was movement in the corner of the room. A low growl emanated from behind an ale barrel. Lance’s eyes widened as he saw who was behind it. The half breed, who had bolted to the corner of the room upon the group’s loud entry, stuck his head over the top of the barrel. For the first time in a week, Lance and Keith looked each other in the eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!! The big reveal has happened. And Klance can happen now as well. Can you hear me crying in the club at my own fanfic? I don’t know if that’s egotistical or what, but now I can write some quality Klance content.
> 
> Thinking of drawing a map of the world to go at the start of the story, kind of like what fantasy authors do before their books. Eh, still in the works with that idea.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. Until the next update.
> 
> ~Princess Erii


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